


Shoot The Moon

by hardlyfatal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brienne is the Best, Cersei is dead, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Idiots in Love, Minor Brienne of Tarth/Tormund GIantsbane, Modern Era, Modern Westeros, Mutual Pining, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Slow Burn, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, which is really my favorite kind of cersei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-04 12:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 80,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/pseuds/hardlyfatal
Summary: To shoot the moon is to aim high— unrealistically high,crazyhigh— and somehow, miraculously, against all odds, achieve your goal. The moon Jaime Lannister’s aiming at is named Brienne Tarth, and she’s dodging for all she’s worth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bearsofair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsofair/gifts), [DanyelN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyelN/gifts), [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts), [ashwritesstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashwritesstuff/gifts), [Julieoftarth (Wherethereissmoak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wherethereissmoak/gifts), [GumTree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GumTree/gifts), [Ruby_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Eyes/gifts), [Laura1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura1013/gifts), [QuizzicalQuinnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalQuinnia/gifts), [WeirdDaydreamingFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdDaydreamingFangirl/gifts), [Blue_Belle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Belle/gifts), [queenofthorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthorns/gifts), [Aerest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerest/gifts), [WackyGoofball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/gifts), [december13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/december13/gifts), [NicoleCollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleCollard/gifts), [justme (silver_spring)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_spring/gifts).



> Hi, everyone! I'm back with another modern AU. Can't get enough of them, apparently. I'll be posting a new chapter every ~~Tuesday and Friday~~ Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. 
> 
> I'm so excited about this story, and hope you like it! Please let me know what you think in a comment :) It's completely written, so there won't be any insane gaps while I wrack the oversqueezed grapefruit serving as my brain for a conclusion. 
> 
> There's minor Sansa/Sandor in this but with the exception of one chapter, it's pretty weaksauce, so if you're here for that, this might not be your fic, friend. Other minor relationships are Tyrion/Tysha and Margaery/Bronn, with a bare mention of Arya/Gendry. 
> 
> This is dedicated to all the lovely wimmin of JBOnline, who have been a fantastic source of fun, inspiration, support, and friendship. If you're one of the JBOChat regulars and I haven't included you in the list of "who this fic is gifted to" with everyone else, PLEASE let me know (and forgive the omission!) so I can add you. 
> 
> Special thanks to Mikki (ikkiM here on AO3) for her amazing beta skills, ensuring this story is at least 180% better than it would have been otherwise.

*

~*~

*

Jaime Lannister's assistant edged warily into his office, poised on her high heels like a gazelle ready to spring away from the lion before her at the first sign of danger. He wasn't in the best mood of his life, but he tried to foster an amicable, productive working relationship with his employees, especially Pia, who'd confided in him an unhappy past. She didn't deserve his ire. He forced his lips into a semblance of a smile.

"Yes, Pia?" he asked her, feigning a pleasant tone well enough to be impressed with his own acting skills. Thank the gods the day was almost over; he couldn't wait to get out of the office and go home.

"Your father's assistant emailed," Pia said miserably. "The OB just called a meeting in five minutes."

'OB' meaning 'old bastard' and referring to one Tywin Lannister, universally despised by family and employees alike. Any time Tywin's ego had even the tiniest dent in it, he would engage in his own, hellish version of 'fun' to inflate it once more, his favorite being the keeping his executive staff long after the end of business hours to harangue them for whichever of their imagined failings had brought about the problem in the first place.

Jaime had rather expected something like this, after stock prices had gone down that morning, but hope sprang eternal that something else would have occurred in the intervening hours to give the OB a boost and thus spare Jaime and everyone else the misery of being penned up in the conference room with his father until deep into the evening.

"Are you serious?" he muttered and raked his fingers through his hair in irritation. "He couldn't tell me himself?"

Wisely, Pia remained silent, aware the question was rhetorical. Everyone knew that Tywin preferred not to issue commands like this personally to his son, because then Jaime would argue with him, and time would be wasted, with the same result: inevitable compliance with the OB's demands.

Jaime swiveled his chair around to stare out the window. He'd hoped to get home on time, for once, so he could have more than just some cursory time with his twins before it was time for them to go to bed. At barely three years of age, Myrcella and Tommen spent their days with their nanny, Josmyn Peckledon, or as the children called him, Peck.

Peck was a grad student who cared for the twins after daycare and before Jaime got home, and all day once a week when the daycare was closed. If Jaime could get home by six o'clock, he could give them dinner, then their bath, read them a story or two, and put them to bed. There was always a lingering, guilty ache in the vicinity of his chest that he couldn't spend more time with them. Bad enough they had to grow up without a mother; the least they could have was a father, except that Jaime was always being held up to put in even more time at a job he loathed, in a company he loathed, for a parent he—

Well. He didn't quite _loathe_ Tywin. Not as Tyrion did, at least. But he sure as hell wasn't _fond_ of the OB, either, and less so every time his father demanded his extended presence for some unnecessary bullshit by the artificial deadlines Tywin so dearly enjoyed foisting upon them.

Jaime knew damned well it was ongoing retribution for marrying Cersei. Wedding his first cousin had squandered a prime opportunity to forge a connection with some other hopelessly rich family, and even five years and Cersei's death later, Tywin still had not forgiven his eldest son for such an infraction. He had yet to even meet his grandchildren.

 _Fuck him,_ Jaime thought with sudden savagery. He wasn't going to hop to, just because the OB felt like tugging his leash that day.

"You've stayed late with me all week, haven't you?" he asked Pia, who'd been trying to inch toward the door unnoticed.

"Er," she said. "Yes. But I don't mind—"

"You _should_ mind," he interrupted. "Ignore my father's order. Tell everyone to go home."

"But— Mr. Lannister will—"

"Don't worry about it. I'll take full responsibility. If he doesn't like it, he can fire me." Jaime launched to his feet. "I kind of wish he would."

Jaime could easily find another job. He'd been to Oldtown University, he had a supremely boring master's in economics from The Citadel. He received a half-dozen obscenely generous offers of employment every year. If Tywin fired him, he could take a few months off, spend time with his babies, spend time with his brother — he hadn't seen Tyrion in too long, and the twins were starting to forget their uncle — and then take his leisurely pick of whichever job he wanted.

Feeling invigorated by his disobedience and the opportunities it presented, he picked up his discarded suit jacket from the sofa and pulled it on, then grabbed his briefcase before setting it back down with a thump.

"No," he said, more to himself than to wide-eyed Pia, "fuck that. It'll hold until tomorrow." He grinned at her, hoping to make her lose the terrified pallor she'd acquired in the last few minutes. "Go ahead." He made little shooing motions with his hands until she preceded him from his office.

"Okay," she replied weakly.

He strode past her to the elevators. It was only a quarter to five; he'd be home a half-hour early. Maybe he could sneak in a few minutes with the twins in the little park down the block from their co-op between dinner and bath time. He caught the subway cross-town just as it was pulling away from the subway station, and had no sooner taken a seat when his phone rang.

"Tyrion? How's Tysha? And the ranch?"

"Hey. Tysha's fine. The ranch, not so much." His little brother's voice, just as deep and wry-sounding as always, held a note of something that concerned Jaime a little. "I need a favor."

"You've got it," Jaime said, his response immediate. Tyrion almost never asked for help. Something must be wrong. "What's the matter?"

"Remember Margaery Tyrell?"

"Of course." Her family's preeminence in the Westeros social scene was second only in value to Tywin to their publishing company, Tyrell House, which had reinvented itself as the imprint for exciting spy thrillers and wickedly clever murder mysteries. They were raking in money hand-over-fist, and the OB had tried more than once to turn Jaime's attention to the only female Tyrellian heir. Jaime had dated her once, at the behest of their interfering parents, who seemed to think he and Margaery were a match made in heaven.

To Jaime's relief, and Tywin's consternation, Margaery had recently decided to vacation at Tyrion's dude ranch, met his employee, Bronn Flynn, and fallen head over heels for the cynical bastard.

"That's the one. Well, she somehow convinced him to elope. They're on their way to honeymooning in The Arbor at this very moment."

"Elope? Bronn?" Jaime repeated it, aware he was stupidly parroting Tyrion's words but unable to stop. "Bronn eloped? _Bronn_?"

There wasn't a man alive who was less likely to be seized by such a spontaneous and lighthearted fancy such as elopement.

No, that wasn't true. One of Tyrion's other employees, Sandor Clegane... _he_ was less likely to elope. But Bronn was a _very_ close second.

"Yes. Bronn," Tyrion confirmed, amusement plain in his voice. "You might want to buy a lottery ticket; miracles are happening."

"Shit. Well, that's amazing." Jaime paused, marveling over it all, but his brain, always busy, identified a problem. "Wait, if Bronn's going to be gone for a while—"

"Two weeks, minimum," said Tyrion, "and I've got a group coming in on Sunday."

"—then you're down a man," Jaime finished.

Tyrion's dude ranch offered guests the opportunity to ride horses, rope steers, and drive herds of cattle for as authentic a "Westerlands" experience as could be had in this day and age. At least three cowboys were needed for a drive: two to herd the cattle, and one to herd the guests. And due to Tyrion's physical challenges, he wasn't able to do it himself. His dwarfism caused a variety of problems, and he was only just healing up from a surgery on his legs from a few months earlier.

Jaime sighed, starting to realize where this conversation was going. "You want me to come out there and replace Bronn."

"You're just as good a cowboy as he is," Tyrion said right away. "Better, even, since you've been doing it your whole life, and he only came to it as an adult."

Uncle Gerion had left the Lannisterian fold to strike out on his own after his wife died, leaving his daughter Cersei to be raised at the chilly bosom of his brother, Tywin. Gerion had gone in search of a personal legacy, won a derelict ranch outside of Ashemark in a card game, named it Brightroar Farm, and proceeded to eke out a subsistence living— with his daughter and Jaime and Tyrion spending summers there providing reluctant slave labor— before dropping dead of mysterious causes.

To protect the 'dignity' of the family name, Tywin had taken over administration of the ranch, which meant he coughed up the bare minimum to keep it from being foreclosed upon by the government for failure to pay taxes, and just enough fuel to the generators to keep the pipes from freezing solid come winter. Cersei, upon reaching majority and inheriting it, saw no reason to deviate from that plan, and Brightroar continued to disintegrate until she died.

Jaime had inherited it upon her death, and sold it to his brother for the grand sum of a single dollar, since it would give Tyrion not only a business venture free of the OB's meddling and control but put him on the other side of the country. Jaime had learned that distance made the heart grow less hateful, where those two were concerned.

To say that Tyrion was keen to keep the business in the black, and thus prove his competence to their father, would be an understatement. Without enough ranch hands, he'd have to cancel the group, losing thousands in income.

Jaime contemplated what he'd be gaining, if he went. It would be cooler in Ashemark than it was currently in King's Landing, the higher altitude being both milder in temperature and less humid. The twins hadn't been to the ranch in a year. It would get them all out of the city during the worst, stickiest weeks of the summer, and it would get Jaime away from the job he was growing to dislike more and more by the day.

And maybe it actually would make the OB fire him.

"Okay," he said. "I'll do it. It'll take a few days to make arrangements— I have to book a flight— what will I do with the babies while I'm working? Aunt Genna is getting too old to chase after toddlers all day— and I can't bring Peck, he's writing his thesis—"

"I already booked you a flight. Aunt Genna, Tysha, and myself will take turns watching the twins. Everything has been arranged. You just need to pack and get your carcass to Baelor International for 10:15 tomorrow morning."

Jaime was speechless, but only for a moment; not much kept him quiet for long. He was a talker, it could not be denied.

"Well, then," he said, a bit anticlimactically, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed my mind, and will be updating 3x/week instead of 2x/week, because at 2x/week it'll take 4 months and NOPE. I have things to do besides keep remembering to post this thing every few days for FOUR MONTHS. So, from now on, you get another chapter on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, which is why you get one just a day after the previous.
> 
> ETA: The rough premise of Brienne's protagonist, the caterer who solves mysteries, and the titles of her books are from Diane Mott Davidson's wonnnnnnnderful Goldy Behr series of murder mysteries; all credit to her for creating such fun book titles. Later on, when I discuss the plots of Brienne's books, however, those are mine and bear no resemblance at all to the plots of Ms. Davidson's stories. 
> 
> That said... here's Brienne! And the other wimmin, as well.

.

~*~

.

Brienne Tarth had not been ‘in the zone’ in a week. The writing zone, that was. She had a manuscript due to her publisher in a month, but almost nothing to show for it. Everything she tried was terrible, and she was starting to get grumpy about it. No matter what she tried, no matter how perfect she made her environment for prime writing, nothing was happening. With a sigh, she wriggled in her chair for the perfect typing posture, and…

…jumped when her phone rang, shattering the peaceful ambiance she’d so carefully crafted for her writing session. She sighed in relief, glad for the interruption.

Brienne turned off the volume of her music and began the search for her phone. It took a while, because her fat gray-and-white calico, Perriane, had decided to hatch it under her fluffy bulk. By the time Brienne unearthed it, the call had gone to voicemail. She checked the message and heard a plea from one of her closest friends that was so disturbing that her first words, upon phoning her back, were, “Sansa, what the _hell_.”

“Please, Brienne,” said Sansa, more than a hint of a whine in her voice. “Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please!”

“How old are you?” Brienne muttered, wishing she were the dishonest sort to feign poor cell reception or a battery gasping out its last breath. She clamped the phone between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to resume typing, and type they did, at a speed rendering her fingers almost invisible to the human eye. “I have a deadline. You _know_ this.”

“But you can write anywhere!” Sansa said. “That’s how you got Mom and Dad to stop hassling you for quitting your job to write full-time! ‘I’m not chained to any one location!’, you said. ‘All I need is a laptop!’ you said. ‘I can come visit you more often!’, you said.”

“And I do visit them often,” said Brienne. The Tarths and the Starks were such closely-bonded friends that all the respective children called the others’ parents ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’. With the Tarths living on their ancestral isle, and the Starks freezing their kiesters off in Winterfell, any way they could spend more time with each other was eagerly seized. “Even more, now that I’m living in King’s Landing. But I don’t see how my going to Westerlands with you lets me spend more time with Aunt Cat and Uncle Ned.”

“No, but you’ll be spending more time with Arya and me!” Sansa exclaimed. “You know you miss us,” she added in a wheedling tone.

“Less and less with each passing moment,” Brienne grumbled, though it wasn’t true; Sansa lived in Oldtown and they didn’t get to see each other very often; meanwhile, Arya was still in college up in White Harbor. Brienne hadn’t seen her in a year. “Where did you hear about this ranch? Why are you so desperate to go?”

“From Margaery!” Sansa was an editor working for Tyrell House, the imprint that published Brienne’s murder mysteries. She had become friends with the granddaughter of the publishing company’s terrifying matriarch. Margaery had, according to Sansa, recently gone on a vacation to a dude ranch in the middle of what Arya had termed Buttfuck, Westerlands, whereupon she had met and promptly fallen in love with one of the employees. The romance of it had gripped Sansa with a fervor most only showed during a religious conversion, and it appeared that she’d made it her life’s work to persuade four other hapless fools into staying with her at Brightroar Farm and pretend to be cowgirls for a week or two.

So far she’d roped— har har— her sister into it, as well as her best friend Jeyne Poole and fellow editor Arianne Martell. The group had to have five people in it, though, and Sansa was determined that Brienne would fill that slot.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she persisted. “You already know how to ride a horse and shoot from growing up on the farm, so you won’t need lessons for that, plus if you just want to stay at the main house and write, you can do that!”

Brienne heaved a sigh, feeling herself weakening. Summer in King’s Landing was a sticky hellscape of boob sweat and rolling brownouts, and as someone who worked primarily at home, she was starting to get cabin fever from spending ten hours a day feverishly trying to finish her latest mystery, The Grilling Season, about a caterer who solves murders. Her previous book, Main Corpse, had done so well that Tyrell House was pressing her to churn out the next in short order.

That would make two publications in a single year, and frankly, Brienne was feeling the strain. Getting away from the city and having some time to herself began to sound like a fine idea.

“Okay,” she sighed. “When?” At Sansa’s reply, she sat up from her slouch and shrieked, “ _Tomorrow_?”

“I’ll pay for your ticket!” Sansa shrieked back. “I’ll even pay extra for you to have a second checked bag!”

“Crone’s Teeth.” Brienne pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache threaten. She plugged her earbud/mic cord into the phone so she could text while talking to Sansa, and furiously swiped a message to Arya.

 “You’re a bad person and should feel bad about yourself,” Brienne told Sansa wearily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sansa replied, unrepentant. “Your flight arrives in Lannisport 3:30 tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll all take a smaller plane together to the little local airport near the ranch.” She gave a little high-pitched squeal of excitement. “This is going to be so much fun! This will be the best vacation ever!”

Brienne had exactly zero faith it would be even remotely as good as Sansa was convinced, but at the very least, whatever calamity occurred could be recycled into grist for her next novel. It could take place on a beef cattle ranch and be titled Prime Cut… the murder weapon would be, of course, a carving knife…

“Okay gotta go now bye,” she said to Sansa and hung up, already preoccupied with outlining her upcoming masterpiece.

~*~

The flight hadn’t been bad. Brienne didn’t know Arianne or Jeyne very well, and at first had been a little alarmed to find herself sandwiched between the two on the plane. But she quickly learned that, while not similar to the people she usually became friends with, they were decent sorts and she could enjoy their company.

Jeyne was a bit timid, and had a habit of hiding her smiles and laughs behind her hand, as if embarrassed to admit she found something amusing. Arianne looked like a sexpot— and _was_ a sexpot, if her frank opinions on copulation were any indication— but she was also frighteningly smart, with a devilish sense of humor. By the time they landed in Lannisport, Brienne had begun to believe she’d be an even better match as an editor than Sansa, though she felt terribly disloyal for even thinking it.

Arya barked orders to the porters to ensure none of the luggage was lost in transit from the main terminal to the charter terminal, and as they all shuffled into a minivan to be driven there Brienne marveled over the number of suitcases Sansa, Jeyne, and Arianne had brought with them. Garment bags, shoe cases… were they expecting something fancy to occur? She had read over Brightroar Farm’s website very carefully, and nowhere did it say that evening wear and heels would be needed. In fact, it was strongly suggested that everything be very sturdy and able to withstand long hours on horseback.

Brienne somehow doubted silk cocktail dresses fit that description, but what did she know? She hadn’t worn a dress in years, and had no plans to do it again any time soon. She met Arya’s rolling eyes and knew the other woman shared that opinion.

The chartered flight to Lannisport was uneventful, but by the way Jeyne and, amusingly, Arya screeched in alarm every time the plane did anything like ascend, turn, or descend, one would have thought a fiery death was imminent. By the time they landed, Jeyne was trembling, green, and looked like she fervently wanted to Volanti-kiss the tarmac in appreciation that they were once again safely on the ground.

The pilot helped them get the luggage out of the minivan but as soon as it was all out, he gave them a jaunty salute, got back in the plane, and left them there alone in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing but a ragged little shack by the pitted old runway desperately needing to be repaved.

Arya scowled and opened her mouth to complain, but her sister, well-practiced in the ways of heading her off before she got rolling, cut her off.

“NBD!” Sansa said cheerfully. “We’ll have a little time to ourselves to enjoy this beautiful place!”

It was beautiful, but it was also daunting to them, being unused to being utterly alone in a strange wilderness, and as the minutes passed with no sign of anyone coming to get them, Brienne began to put together a plan for what to do if they were stranded there.

“Weren’t we supposed to be picked up at six?” Jeyne asked at six-thirty. “We’ve been waiting for an hour.” She paused, and what little color she’d regained after their chartered flight faded away again, leaving her pasty-white. “What if they forgot about us? What if there’s no cell service out here in the middle of nowhere? What if there are banditos?”

They all squinted at her, and then very slowly, as if to calm a spooked horse, Arya said, “Jeyne, this is the 21st century. And we’re really far from Sothoroyos. And we’re not in a fucking spaghetti western. There are no banditos.”

“Okay, maybe not Sothoryos ones, but… bandits? Westeros bandits?”

Arya gave her a repressive look and walked away, toward a hill that looked like it would give an even better view of their surroundings. One by one, they followed her and spent some minutes in silence, just appreciating the natural beauty around them. Ragged shack aside, they were in the middle of complete wilderness, with no civilization to be seen for miles and miles.

“I like it here,” said Arianne, looking out at the wide prairie to the east, then the mountains rising in the west. “Feels like there’s space to breathe.”

Brienne thought so, too, even as she raised the hood of her sweater against the faint chill coming on as the sun set. She loved living in Flea Bottom, now that it was gentrified, but sometimes the closeness of the buildings, and how their height cut off the sky overhead— the thickness of the polluted air— the density of sound, always a constant hum in the background, punctuated with horns and squealing brakes— got on her nerves. She suddenly felt very glad that Sansa had bullied her into coming on this trip and had a weird, fervent conviction that something incredible was going to happen.

The others kept climbing the hill, phones out to take pictures as the sun began to set, but Brienne thought she heard a vehicle approaching and went down to see if it were their tardy ride to the ranch. A huge double-cab pick-up truck zoomed toward them at a good clip, and when it came to a dusty stop, she saw _Brightroar Farm_ and a lion rampant proclaimed on the side in gold, contrasting nicely with its dark-red paint.

A man climbed out from behind the wheel. Not your average man, though. No, this man was was divinely, improbably handsome, with a sculpted jaw and a profile fresh off a Braavosi coin. Longish golden hair swung around that startling face, glinting as the tawny light of sunset gilded him from head to toe, a half-god come to earth.

For the first time in her life Brienne was stricken dumb. Her blood raced through her, tingling in her fingertips, and every cell in her body came alive to shout, _this one_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments, I hope you continue to enjoy it :)
> 
> And sorry for the erratic updates this week. This will be the last one until Monday.

.

~*~

.

Jaime was not in his best mood ever by the time he climbed into the pickup truck to fetch their guests from the tiny local airport. Myrcy and Tommen had cried from the moment their ears popped, upon the plane taking off, until the moment they’d touched down in Lannisport, then again for the puddle-jumper plane to Ashemark.

Once at the ranch, they hadn’t been pleased to be left with Aunt Genna, whom they barely remembered, for the duration of their father’s trip to acquire the newest guests. It had taken him so long to settle them down that he was quite late to pick up the guests, and a headache was starting to bloom behind his eyes in anticipation of their shitty attitudes to have been waiting in the middle of nowhere for almost an hour.

When he arrived, it was to see the willowy figures of four women standing on a hill in the distance, arms raised, and he realized they were all busily taking photos on their cell phones, doubtless to post to the hundred different social media sites that young people seemed unable to live without these days.

Then he realized how crotchety and old he sounded in his own head, calling them ‘young people’ and their current era ‘these days’, and his mood sank another few inches.

 _Then_ he realized that the group of guests he was supposed to shepherd for the next two weeks consisted of young women, probably attractive, and wondered if Tyrion had done this to him on purpose, trying to matchmake. When he returned to the ranch, would he find Tyrion still there, or would his crafty little brother have fucked off to some safe secret location? At least Aunt Genna had the twins—

 _Ah_. Aunt Genna. If there were a nefarious plot, she was the one behind it. Jaime knew it in a heartbeat. Tyrion was devious, but he had nothing on their aunt, who was all the more effective for being a) female, b) older, c) plumply adorable and thus seemingly harmless.

 _Seemingly_.

Oh, he hated his family sometimes.

He brought the pickup to a halt beside a towering mound of luggage and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel for a moment, inhaling deeply before getting out of the truck. Jaime walked around to the back and jerked down the tailgate so he could get started loading it up with the thousand bags these crazy women had brought with them. It was a dude ranch, did they think they’d need ball gowns? He grabbed the closest suitcase, a monster big enough to hold a dead body and just about as heavy.

Then one of the other bags _moved_. Jaime nearly jumped out of his skin.

No, it wasn’t a suitcase, he realized after a moment, when he could breathe again. The deepening gloom of twilight had obscured what he was seeing. Instead of a giant mound of luggage, it was only a moderate-sized mound of luggage and a person standing in front of the mound, clothed all in black and making the heap of suitcases seem much bigger than it was.

He only had time enough for pale skin and big eyes— it was a woman? Yes, a very tall one— to make an impression when she gasped and pointed at the ground just behind Jaime’s feet.

That was when Jaime heard the rattlesnake.

_Oh, shit._

He froze, then turned his head with excruciating slowness to look over his shoulder. The snake was maybe a yard away, well within striking range, and Jaime’s hands were full of a massive suitcase.

“Hey,” he said calmly to the woman, “in the glove box is a pistol. I want you to get it and bring it to me. Can you do that?”

She took a cautious step toward the truck and opened the door to rummage inside as directed. Jaime figured he’d drop the suitcase, the guest would toss him the gun, and Jaime would shoot the snake. The timing would be hard but he had good reflexes, it could be done, he was positive he’d seen it in a movie once—

The woman raised the gun, pulled back on the nine-millimeter’s slide, aimed, and fired a single shot, the sound echoing off the airplane hangar into the vast open prairie surrounding them.

Jaime felt a faint vibration through his boots, and realized the bullet had gone right between his feet. For a moment, all he felt was shock, and couldn’t do anything but stand there, the damned suitcase still in his arms.

“Well, cowboy,” drawled the guest in a terrible imitation of a Westerlands accent, “there’s another one for Boot Hill.”

And she brought the gun up and blew imaginary smoke off the muzzle, then stuffed it into her pocket.

Jaime craned his head over his shoulder again and saw the rattler neatly cut two, each half a foot from the other.

And both mere inches from his feet.

His entire being lit up incandescent with a blind and barbaric fury.

He dropped the suitcase and took a few steps toward the woman, intent on injuring her in some heinous way, before managing to get himself under control. His mouth and fists opened and closed several times as he fought his temper and his body’s automatic must-kill response.

“Brienne?” called another woman.

A second said, “That was a gunshot!”

A third: “Brienne! Are you alright?”

A fourth: “Wow, is that a snake?”

The second: “It _was_ a snake. Now it’s fertilizer.”

The woman who’d fired his gun— Brienne, apparently— swept her hood back from her face to reveal platinum hair floating messily around a face that could stop a clock, all weird nose and big lips and colorless brows. The unfortunate creature even had a starburst of a scar, ruddy and prominent against the paleness of the rest of her face, on one cheek. And she was gawking at him, eyes wide but the color hidden in the shadows, her expression like she’d just spotted some exotic new species never seen before.

Jaime knew that expression well, having been stared at for his looks many a time in his life. Combined with her disobeying his command and using the gun, firing so close she could have killed him— left his children without any parents at all— and it was the final nail in the coffin of his temper.

“They said there’d be five of you, but you’re ugly enough for three people on your own.”

She jerked back as if he’d struck her, shock making her even more repellent. A pang of regret hit Jaime as it always did, a split-second after he misbehaved, and he sighed, about to apologize, but then her expression went on lock-down, going from hurt to disgust in the space of a heartbeat.

“I see they sent out the stud bull to get us.” She ran a disdainful eye over him. “Surprising you can count to five without tapping your hoof on the ground. Is that as high as you can go? Since you were supposed to be here at six. That’s one more than five, though, and kind of a tough concept to grasp.”

Now it was Jaime’s turn to gape at her. She… thought he was stupid? Recollection of being thought a dumb blond jock in school merged with low-simmering ever-present rage at his father’s contempt toward his struggles with dyslexia, and how inferior he’d always felt to Tyrion’s immense intellect. Any regret at his own rudeness evaporated like dew under the brunt of the morning sun.

“When I give you an order, you will obey it,” he snarled.

Her face transformed from mere disdain to absolute contempt in the space of a heartbeat. “The hell I will,” she snarled back. “Not if your orders are _stupid_ and will end up in someone getting killed.”

“I was trying to _prevent_ anyone from getting killed!”

“How, by bending the laws of physics? Because that would be the only way your little plan to save us all would have worked.”

“Um… excuse me?”

Jaime ground his teeth and turned to see the other women all clustered behind him. Two were outright beautiful, one a tall, slim redhead and the other lush-figured and dark— those were undoubtedly the ones he was supposed to woo during the course of this inevitable fiasco— and the last two were petite brunettes, pretty but not approaching the stunning looks of the first two.

And then there was Brienne. Her expression and the contempt in her voice was burned into his brain.

The redhead stepped forward with an aggressively nice smile on her face. “I’m sorry, Mr.—” she said while shooting reproachful looks over his shoulder at his adversary.

“Lannister,” he supplied. “Jaime Lannister.”

“Mr. Lannister,” she continued, bestowing upon him a smile so lovely he felt a little dazed by it. “Brienne’s not usually so…”

“Rude?” he suggested. “Hostile? Confrontational?”

An affronted gasp came from behind him. Jaime turned back to face Brienne and smirked. “Going to say ‘he started it’?”

“You _did_ start it,” she growled, and there was true menace in her voice. She threw back her shoulders, and his eyes widened as she got even taller. He realized she was just as tall as he was… no, even taller by a little, he’d guess. And he stood six-foot-two himself, so it was impressive as hell. If she actually attacked him, she might be able to give him a run for his money, and the idea of being challenged by her sent a frisson of something hot and unwelcome up his spine.

“Well,” he drawled, steadfastly ignoring said frisson, “now I’m finishing it. It’s late, we’re all tired, so everyone, climb into the truck and we can get to the ranch sooner rather than later.” He turned to his new nemesis and added, “If you’d be so kind as to return my gun?”

She withdrew it from her pocket, checking to made sure the safety was on, and slapped it into his outstretched palm.

“I see you haven’t lost any of your shooting mojo,” Arya commented to Brienne as she and the others began to clamber into the truck.

Brienne eyed Jaime in a distinctly unfriendly manner before replying. “Never know when you’ll have to scare some crows away from your garden.”

Then she stood there, glowering at him, as he began to heave suitcases into the truck’s bed without a bit of care for their condition. He blithely ignored her, chucking the cases with reckless abandon. Then she surprised him by helping, her big hands easily grasping a heavy bag in each one, hauling them effortlessly up and over the side of the bed.

“Thanks,” Jaime said lazily, his insolent tone custom-designed to infuriate.

“Fuck you,” she said clearly, prompting a scandalized gasp from inside the cab, but there wasn’t much venom to it. More weariness. He didn’t blame her. It had likely been a long flight from King’s Landing, then waiting an hour, then him being a pain in her ass.

“Which one of them is clutching her pearls, do you think?” he asked idly, by way of conciliation.

She didn’t answer, acting as if he weren’t even there, which made Jaime’s temper flare again, so after the last suitcase was loaded, Jaime grabbed her by the waist and tossed her into the truck bed on top of everything and slammed the tailgate shut. He pretended to ignore her right back, but didn’t miss her astonishment in his peripheral vision as he stalked to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. He also didn’t miss the way his palms tingled at the feel of her in his hands and the heat of her through her sweater.

 _That makes no damned sense at all,_ he complained to himself.

The four other women all stared at him as he took a deep breath and schooled his features into something resembling normalcy.

“Hello,” he said, turning to face them all. “Sorry about the dramatics. Please believe me when I say that that is not how a stay at Brightroar Farm typically begins. Extenuating circumstances, et cetera. I’m Jaime, and I will be one of your instructors in cattle handling and riding while you’re here. Normally I’d offer to answer any questions you might have on the ride to the ranch, but I have a bit of a headache at the moment, so if you could hold on until we arrive, my brother will be more than happy to answer everything for you.”

He put the truck in gear and aimed it in the direction of the ranch. After a few stilted moments of silence, introductions went around the truck. The tiny brunette seated to his right was Arya, he soon learned. Sansa was the redhead, with a sunny personality that was sure to drive the surly-natured Sandor to murder, and Jeyne was the other little brunette, pretty in a terrified, rabbity sort of way. He’d assign Pod to keep an eye on her, since Pod was pretty rabbity himself. They could spend their time scaring each other to death.

The last woman was Arianne, and she looked like trouble. Only time would tell if it were the sort of trouble Jaime _liked_ , but if the way she reciprocated his eye contact in the rear view mirror were any indication, he’d enjoy finding out. The prospect lightened his mood considerably.

“And Brienne, you’ve… already met,” Sansa concluded delicately.

“Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, unable to help himself. In the rear view mirror, he saw the head of the woman in question snap up, her shoulders near to quivering in indignation.

“You can stop being a dick any time now,” Arya said, her voice pleasant, almost conversational, but when he looked over at her, her expression was utterly blank in the way of assassins and ninjas and other dangerous beings.

Blinking, Jaime returned his attention to the road and just concentrated on getting everyone to the ranch in whole pieces.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And week 2 begins! I'm so pleased with the positive response this story is getting, thank you all so much for your kind comments :)
> 
> Thanks, yet again, to Mikki for her stellar betaship. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

.

~*~

.

Brienne could easily hear what they were saying through the slid-open rear window. Sansa could always be trusted to salvage a tense situation, and she carried on a chipper conversation with everyone, including their gorgeous-but-awful driver, for the duration of the drive to the ranch. He was perfectly pleasant to the other women. All by herself (unless you counted the luggage, and she was not inclined to) in the truck bed and left out of the conversation, Brienne gave an indignant sniff.

 _Should have just let the snake bite him_. She recalled a Shadrick Hollums mystery,  The Speckled Band, where a snake was trained and coaxed to bite someone, and she smiled grimly at the idea. She’d never actually _do_ it, of course, but… she pulled out her phone and wrote a note to kill off someone in a future novel via snakebite. She already had an idea of who the victim would be, she thought with a smile: a too-handsome cowboy who drove everyone so batshit-crazy that he ended up dead. By snakebite. After a horrible, painful, screaming death.

Her smile widened.

The truck had barely come to a halt in front of a sprawling lodge when Brienne scrambled from the bed and rummaged through the baggage for her own things. She located her suitcase and messenger bag and dragged them out before marching into the huge log-built lodge at which they had arrived.

Inside was a city slicker’s wet dream of the rural living, all exposed beams and Dothraki blankets and boiled horse skulls on the walls. A huge fire was roaring in the immense stone fireplace of the lounge, warming up the faint chill in the air; this far up in the mountains, even in the dead of summer, it got cold at night.

She dropped her bags to the floor by her feet, when she reached the concierge desk.

“Welcome to Brightroar Farm!” said the woman behind the desk. “I’m Tysha.”

Brienne did not return Tysha’s warm smile. “When is the earliest flight tomorrow from your local airport, here, to Lannisport?”

Tysha blinked and the smile fell from her face. “…I’m sorry? You want to leave? Already?”

“Yes, please,” said Brienne, as politely as she could muster.

Tysha blinked at her again. “One moment, please,” she said, and scurried out a nearby door.

While she waited for Tysha, Brienne turned to observe the progress of her friends. They’d all extracted themselves from the truck and were in the process of sorting through the luggage for their own bags. Through the open double-door, she could see Jaime Lannister unloading the truck bed. He smiled in response to something Jeyne said, and Brienne felt one of her eyes twitch. If he’d been painfully handsome when scowling and shouting, he was unbearably handsome when smiling.

Tysha returned with a little person, a man with wide eyes who gazed up, and up, and up at Brienne.

“I’m Tyrion Lannister, owner of Brightroar Farm. My wife tells me that you want to leave as soon as possible?”

“That’s right,” she said.

“You can certainly go, Ms.—”

“Tarth.”

“—Ms. Tarth, but if you leave, that will also end the stay for your friends as well, as the package purchased for our ranch is specifically for five people. There are three hands to teach and guide the guests. Driving the cattle requires at least eight people. It’s not safe for fewer than that.”

Brienne hung her head back and closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. She should have known it would come down to this: if she left, she’d be ruining her friends’ vacation. She didn’t know Arianne or Jeyne very well, but Arya and Sansa were practically her sisters. And, much like actual sisters, they were always getting her into one pickle or another.

And this was the result: Brienne standing there, tired and annoyed and resigned to having to stay to avoid disappointing Sansa-- once her friend got an idea into her head, nothing short of divine intervention was going to dissuade her. She rubbed her face and nodded to Tyrion.

“Fine,” she said with immense reluctance, “I’ll stay.”

Tysha’s face brightened, the tension melting away to a lovely smile. “Excellent!”

“Can I have my room key?” she asked. “I’d like to settle in as soon as possible.”

“Of course!” Tyrion looked to Tysha, who began to tap away at the computer to process the check-in.

Brienne just sighed and steadfastly ignored Cowboy Lannister when he began hauling the luggage into the lodge, and when Tysha finally handed the key over, she rejected the offer of assistance carrying her bags to her room, shouldering them herself and dashing up the stairs with alacrity.

Her room was at the end of the hallway, with a bank of windows all along the outer wall showcasing what was certain to be a splendid view when the sun was up. Even at night, with the stars and moon shedding light over the prairie, and the dark silhouette of the mountains in the distance, it was lovely. Brienne rested her forehead against the glass and closed her eyes to rally herself.

 _Stupid cowboy._ A part of her scrambled brain was still throbbing with awareness of him.

She’d never had a reaction to a man like that before, and to have cruelty flung at her so suddenly, and from _him_ , had been the shock of a lifetime, a disbelief that still simmered in her belly. The intense hurt had been responsible for the mean comments that had tumbled from her in response. She was still marveling at how rapidly and smoothly the words had fallen from her lips, like little pointed stones.

They had reached their mark, too, because the pain and anger that distorted his face was unmistakable. Brienne refused to feel bad about it, though. He had earned it. She hadn’t done a thing, hadn’t said a word, to him before he’d insulted her. She was used to it— wasn’t the first time it had happened, and certainly wouldn’t be the last— but that didn’t make it any easier to endure.

She left the windows and sat at the desk, extracting her laptop from her messenger bag and booting it up. One thing was guaranteed to take her mind off Cowboy Lannister’s gorgeous person and foul personality: writing. Ignoring the need to unpack, or even take her shoes off to relax a bit after a long day of travel, she set her fingers to the keyboard and started tapping.

Brienne wasn’t sure how long she was at it, but at some point Arya barged into the room without knocking.

“They’re serving dinner in a minute,” Arya said. “Coming down?”

Brienne blinked owlishly at her. She always needed a moment to adjust from what she was writing to interacting with actual people. “Uh,” she began. “Will it just be us?”

Arya grimaced. “Apparently, to emphasize the ‘ranch experience’ we all eat together— guests, ranch employees, everyone.”

The idea of having to sit through a meal with Cowboy Lannister made Brienne’s stomach flip unpleasantly.

“I’m not all that hungry,” she lied, unconvincingly, it would seem, because Arya narrowed her eyes in skepticism.

“Because of that asshole?” she demanded.

Brienne shrugged, blushing and feeling stupid for letting him have that much power over her, but the fact was that she did poorly with men in general, terribly with attractive men in particular, and horrendously with Jaime Lannister especially, it would seem.

“Why make the meal awful for everyone?” she mumbled. “I’ll just stay here. Maybe I can get a tray sent up?”

Arya’s eyes narrowed further, and then she turned and bolted for the door, flinging open the rough-hewn wood before pelting down the hallway toward the stairs. Brienne sighed and followed at an intercept speed. She reached Arya with just enough time to spare before the younger girl hurled herself at Jaime’s unsuspecting back, an arm catching Arya around the middle and yanking her back before she could commit a felony.

A group of men had assembled in the huge, rustic lounge and were in the midst of a discussion. Jaime whipped around just in time to observe Brienne’s rescue. He was joined by three others: an average-sized young fellow with dark hair and eyes, an immense brute of a man with a hideously scarred face, and Tyrion looking comically small beside the brute. All stared in amazement as Arya struggled to free herself of Brienne’s constraining embrace.

“You’re a sack of shit,” Arya informed Jaime.

He narrowed his eyes at her. In the dimness of sunset, Brienne had not been able to see his eye color, but now she could tell they were a brilliant green, and that his hair was not merely light brown, but a burnished gold with lighter streaks of lemony blond.

He switched that bright gaze from Arya to Brienne and gave a little jolt of surprise. Brienne clenched her teeth to see it, because obviously he was just as shocked at her appearance in full illumination as she was of his, albeit for drastically opposed reasons. In the harsh light of day, Brienne only looked worse, but somehow Jaime just got better. He’d probably get handsomer with age, too. She sighed at the unfairness of it all.

Arya noticed it, too, because she redoubled her efforts to free herself and rush forward to maim him.

He stared at Brienne a moment longer before asking, “What now?” and eyeing Arya with caution. He inched back and continued. “I haven’t even seen you since—”

“Since you threw me into the truck bed?” Brienne finished for him, his casual disregard for her, again, goading her anger to surge once more. She wasn’t the slightest bit turned on by the fact that he was strong enough to heave her tall, muscular frame two feet into the air. Not even a little. Nope.

He raked a hand through his hair. Brienne watched with resentment as it fell perfectly into place. “Listen. I’m sorry, but I’ve had a bad day, and—”

“Please believe me when I say I haven’t the slightest interest in your excuses,” Brienne interrupted.

“Dammit, I’m trying to apologize—”

She snorted. “Don’t bother. You don’t mean it. If I have to put up with you, I prefer you rude and cruel to polite but dishonest.”

Tyrion stepped forward, his face horrified. “What the hell did you say, you idiot?” he demanded of Jaime, who actually colored a little in embarrassment. To Brienne’s irritation, the faint flush of pink across his cheekbones made him— yes, again— even better-looking. It gave him the appearance of having been freshly-fucked, and she felt heat building between her legs. _Dammit_.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said briskly. Bad enough to hear it once, but the idea of trotting it out again — in front of three more men — made her flesh crawl with mortification.

“Ms. Tarth,” Tyrion said in a conciliatory tone, “I’m very sorry for whatever my brother — this fool — might have done or said that was offensive. I promise you, it will not happen again. We are not in the business of alienating our guests.”

She gave him a choppy nod. “It’s fine. Every business can have crappy employees.”

Jaime bristled, those green eyes narrowing at her, but he kept blessedly silent.

“Just… keep him away from me,” she finished tiredly, and released Arya, uncaring anymore if she assaulted him or not. Brienne looked him right in the face and said, “Stay away from me.”

She left, then, striding for the stairs and her room, intent on hiding there the rest of the evening. Maybe get some writing done. She had some plot revision to do for her newest book, and a cowboy to kill with extreme prejudice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments, you don't know how relieved I am that you're enjoying the story!
> 
> Since chapter 5 is so short, here, have chapter 6 as well!
> 
> Have I mentioned that Mikki is an amazing beta? Because Mikki is an AMAZING beta.

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~*~

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"Please accept my apologies," Tyrion said to the remaining girl. "Ms...?"

"Stark," she replied coldly. "Arya Stark. My sister, Sansa, is the redhead."

Jaime watched as Brienne Tarth left, her impossibly tall body taking the stairs three at a time in her haste to get away. From _him_. He was pretty sure he'd never alienated a woman to the point of _fleeing_ before, and the wave of disgust he felt at himself almost bowled him over.

She'd been a shock to his system when he'd first clapped eyes on her, but it was nothing in comparison to the jolt he'd felt when he'd gotten a good look at her in the glow from the fireplace. He couldn't decide if her eyes were a cruel reminder of the beauty she lacked everywhere else, or just compensation for that lack, but... gods, they were like nothing else he'd ever seen in his life.

Her eyes had met his for a long, dark, hot moment, and sound faded to silence, and every nerve ending in his body saluted at the same time while saying, _this one_.

"Jaime," said Tyrion, and Jaime dragged his attention from the departing Tarth to where his brother stood beside the girl -- Angry Arya, Jaime mentally dubbed her -- who was still glaring daggers at him. He'd been lucky Brienne had held her back, earlier. There was nothing holding her back _now_ , however, and he felt his muscles tense in preparation to spring away if need be. "You'll leave Ms. Tarth alone from now on."

"I'll have to talk to her at some point," he reminded Tyrion. "To teach her how to ride and rope and everything."

"She knows how to ride," growled Arya, "just like she knows how to shoot. And these guys know how to do the other stuff, don't they?" She peered at each of Pod and Sandor in turn, evaluating them with a gimlet eye. Pod visibly quailed back from her, while Sandor just stared impassively. She gave him a hard nod. "You'll do."

"Glad you think so," he rumbled back, a note of amusement discernible only to those who knew him well.

"Arya?" said a voice from upstairs, and then the aforementioned redhead was floating down the stairs. "I thought I heard you say my name --"

Sansa stopped halfway down the stairs to stare at their little assembly. Or at one member of it in particular; her gaze seemed caught on Sandor, and who could blame her? He was massive, and those scars could grab one's attention and not let go.

After a protracted moment of silence, Sansa seemed to shake herself free and continued down the stairs. "Did we ever settle things with --" She stopped when she saw Jaime standing there. There was a flicker of expression on her face, something that spoke of retribution, before it settled into what seemed to be its usual sweet lines.

_That_ , Jaime thought, _is not a woman to cross_. He was somehow more unnerved by her than of her overtly-threatening sister.

"Yeah," said the overtly-threatening sister, "it's all been worked out," though it was clear what had been worked out had not been to her satisfaction.

"Good," said Sansa, and then dispelled the tension by beaming at everyone in turn. "Gosh, I'm hungry! We get dinner this first night, don't we?"

Tyrion turned to her in blatant relief. "Yes, and it will be served in just a few minutes. Would you like a drink first?"

"A glass of wine would be wonderful," Sansa replied, and permitted him to lead her to the bar in the corner.

"I'll go get Jeyne and Arianne for dinner," said Arya.

"Not Brienne?" Jaime asked before he could help himself.

She fixed him with an unfriendly stare. From across the room, Sansa turned and watched him.

He forced a nonchalant shrug. "Just wondering why she wouldn't have dinner, too."

"You don't need to concern yourself with anything about her," Arya snapped, and left, a mere blur as she shot up the stairs.

"Brienne will likely spend the evening writing," Sansa murmured from behind him a few moments later, and he turned to find her standing there, slender fingers holding the stem of a crystal glass half-full of ruby liquid. She took a sip and surveyed him over the glass' rim. "For all that Brienne is big and looks tough, she's not. She's very gentle and loving and no matter how many times she's hurt, she tends to forget that most people are absolute garbage. Fortunately, she has Arya and me to look out for her."

Before Jaime could figure out a reply, Sansa continued, with a brilliant smile, "You should ask Arya what happened to the men who put that scar on Brienne's cheek."

Then she sauntered away toward the dining room, where Tyrion had been trying, in futility, to herd them all for the past few minutes.

Jaime flicked a glance at the other two men. Pod looked terrified, but Sandor had a speculative look on his ravaged face as he watched Sansa disappear through the door.

"Think I'm in love," he rumbled, and followed her to the dining room.

Jaime sighed. The easy weekend of giving guests a real ranch experience, while avoiding his brother's matchmaking efforts, suddenly seemed to get a lot more complicated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's 6. Hope you like it!

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~*~

.

Sansa and Arya brought up a tray full of dinner for Brienne, and tried to coax her out to the bonfire that would be blazing in the massive fire pit every night. Even the temptation of s'mores would not budge her, however. She was no fit company for anyone, she insisted, and needed the night to herself so she could be trusted to behave in a civil manner the next day. The Stark girls were reluctant to leave her there, but ultimately permitted themselves to be hustled out the door, and Brienne was finally left in peace.

She ate her cooled-off dinner and spent an hour working on The Grilling Season but her attention insisted on wavering. After ten minutes of frustration, during which her brain refused to obey her commands to write what she wanted, she gave up and started revising her next story. Prime Cut would now feature the world's most handsome but obnoxious cowboy, and like Murder on the Essosi Express, he'd be so fucking awful that the entire cast of the book would have a part in murdering him in a most gruesome way.

Thus inspired, Brienne happily worked until her eyelids were drooping and she was writing more typos than actual words. She went to bed, and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

.

~*~

.

Brienne woke with the sun the next morning, and brought her laptop downstairs to get some more writing done before things got too busy. She'd presumably be busy with ranch-related things later on, so she wanted to get as much done as possible while she still could.

She knew that she was expected, with the other women, to spend the first few days being taught how to ride, rope cattle, spot rattlesnakes (though she was already way ahead on that one), and various other things they'd need to know to keep from dying tragically while pretending to work the ranch. Brienne thought that, if she and Cowboy Lannister could manage to keep from killing each other for the duration, it could actually be kind of fun— while she'd grown up on a farm, it hadn't had much livestock, and nothing that needed to be herded besides the geese.

She took a little while to wander around the lodge, exploring what seemed to have actually functioned as a cattle ranch in a bygone era. The front porch, spanning the entire width of the lodge, had a glorious view of the mountains to the east. Their peaks were shrouded with mist and, in these delicate moments just before dawn, when it was light enough to see but the sun had not yet emerged over the horizon, everything was washed in blue and lilac. After admiring it for a few moments, she went back inside, intent on working.

She found a cozy little alcove containing two deep wing chairs on either side of a small table, set up her laptop, and got writing. After a quiet hour or so, the lodge began to wake up. Voices and the thud of footsteps could be heard from afar. Tyrion appeared in the doorway between the lounge and dining room. He went about opening the doors to the freshness of the morning air, making sure the screen doors were in place, and fluffing up various cushions and bouquets placed around the various rooms.

"Can I bring you some coffee or tea?" he offered when he reached Brienne's alcove. She could tell he was anxious to smooth over whatever damage his brother might have caused the previous night. She accepted tea with thanks and smiled extra-wide so he'd relax a little, and indeed he seemed a bit happier as he trundled off to get her beverage.

While she was waiting for it, however, the screen door of a side entrance was flung wide with a force beyond what should have been possible for the person who opened it, who turned out to be a very small child.

"Daddy here?" said the very small child.

"Daddy here!" cried another, and then two golden-haired cherubs flew in a reckless dash through the room, so similar in size and looks that they had to be twins. One wore shorts and a red shirt with a cartoon lion on the front, and the other a pink and yellow sundress. They amused themselves by pelting around the lounge and making an absolutely deafening racket.

"Myrcy!" a woman exclaimed from outside. "Tommen!"

There were too many hard surfaces and sharp edges in the lounge for small children to careen about; as Brienne watched, the boy — Tommen, she assumed — nearly wiped out on a table made from a massive tree stump, and Myrcy skidded on the polished floor to land on her bottom. Brienne plotted an intercept course and within moments had snagged both of them, one in each arm.

"Hello," she said, looking into their angelic faces. Wide, intelligent green eyes gazed back, and Brienne promptly fell in love. She swallowed hard against the rush of heretofore foreign emotions that battered at her heart, which whispered, _these are mine_.

"Who are you?" asked the girl. "I'm Tommen."

"I'm Brienne," she replied. "And I think this might be Tommen." She looked at the boy, who was lifting a grubby paw to pat at the scar on her cheek.

" _I'm_ Tommen," he confirmed. "Briemme got hurt?"

"Briemme got hurt?" Myrcy repeated, sounding alarmed. She put her little hands on Brienne's face and solemnly turned it so she could see the scar, too.

Her throat tightened. "A long time ago."

Both children stared at her in dismay. Then Tommen lurched forward in her grasp and pressed his mouth to her cheek. It wasn't a kiss so much as just a mash of his lips against her scar, and some sort of sticky residue was left behind when he leaned back again, but he was all smiles afterward.

"All gone!" he declared. "Pretty again."

She felt her chin wobble in that way she hated, when she couldn't control her feelings. The kindness and empathy shown to her by these babies within moments of meeting her was more than she'd received from some people she'd known for decades.

"Oh, you've got them," said an older woman in clear relief as she came into the room, looking worn out. Brienne felt sympathy for her; she was clearly on the far side of sixty and it couldn't be easy to keep track of even one toddler at that age, let alone two. "I'm Genna Frey, their great-aunt."

Brienne introduced herself while setting them back down on their feet. "They seem like a handful."

"They're good children—" Genna began.

"I'm good chidren," Myrcy repeated, then shot a sly glance at her twin. "But Tommen is not so good chidren."

"I'm good chidren, too!" he exclaimed hotly, clearly offended. "Myrcy, take it back!"

"—but they're just so..." Genna blew out a breath and patted a stray hair back into place. "Energetic. I don't mind sitting with them while they nap or play quietly, but my days of running after toddlers are over, I'm afraid. It's going to have to be a team effort."

Brienne wondered who the team would consist of, and if she could be on it. She didn't give a damn about roping calves and herding cows, but spending time with these beautiful darlings would be the highlight of the whole ill-fated trip.

"If you want, I can chase after them?" she offered tentatively. "You can just sit and watch us?"

"Seven blessings upon your house," said Genna, and sank into an overstuffed chair with a grateful sigh. "Tommen, Myrcy, Miss Brienne is going to play with you for a while, but you still have to behave. I'll be keeping an eye on you, and if you run off or touch something you shouldn't, you won't get cookies after lunch."

"We're good chidren!" Tommen declared, apparently still affronted that the matter was in question.

"Yes, you're both good children," Brienne said with a laugh, and reached out for their hands. "I found a bird's nest with blue eggs in it, want to see?"

They both nodded, very solemn about the great honor to be bestowed upon them. They took her hands and she led them out the side door to the porch support where she'd spied the nest.

"We can't touch it," she said, "because then the mama bird might not come back."

"Like our mama," said Myrcy. "She's gone and don't come back."

Brienne had no idea what to say to that, so settled for a faint, "Yes, like that." She lifted first Myrcy, then Tommen, so they could peek into the nest and view the pale blue eggs with their brown speckles.

"Baby birds gonna be borned!" Tommen exclaimed. "Can I play wif them?"

"You can't really play with birds. They're not like dogs or cats."

"We want a cat!" Myrcy declared it at the top of her, Brienne learned at that moment, powerful lungs. "But Daddy says not yet," she added at much more reasonable volume.

Whoever Daddy was, he probably had the right of it. If their mother was gone, raising two toddlers by himself would be a chore in itself. Adding a pet to the mix was probably not possible.

"Daddy's probably really tired," Brienne said. "I have a cat, and I can tell you that pets can be a lot of work. You don't want to make him more tired, do you?"

They looked at her with the same sad expression, and again she had that sinking feeling of falling in love. What dear, compassionate little souls they were.

"Daddy's _very_ tired," confirmed Myrcy. "We gotta jump on the bed extra hard to wake up him."

"Or he be late for work," added Tommen. "We're his 'larm cocks."

Brienne compressed her lips to keep from grinning, because it was clear the children took their 'job' seriously, and it wasn't Tommen's fault he couldn't say 'cl' yet, and she didn't want to hurt their feelings. "I'm sure he... appreciates that."

"I really do," drawled a voice like chocolate sin, and Brienne spun around to find Cowboy Lannister leaning in the doorway, a half-smirk on his face as he watched them.

 _They're his? Just figures._ Brienne had been hoping they belonged to one of the other men on the ranch but, as always, her luck was not with her. They just had to belong to one of the most awful people she'd ever met.

"Daddy!" screeched the little angels, both reaching for him and almost falling from Brienne's arms. Jaime reached out in a motion deft from frequent practice, it was clear, and rescued them from certain peril, scooping them into his own embrace.

"Daddy, here's Briemme!" Myrcy shouted into his ear while he winced. "She had a hurt but it's better now!"

"And there are eggs! Blue eggs!" Tommen was no quieter in his enthusiasm. Jaime winced again. "Baby birds, Daddy! But you can't play wif them. Not like a cat." He paused and stared at his father meaningfully. "You can play wif a _cat_ , Daddy."

He said it with clear leading intent, and Brienne had to roll her lips in to keep from laughing.

"But I'm _very_ tired, Tommen," said Jaime. "If I get any more tired, you'll have to get another person to jump on the bed to wake me up every morning." He glanced past them to fix Brienne with a lambent emerald gaze that had every hair on her body standing at full alert. "Maybe Brienne could help. I bet she could really make the bed shake."

The grin she'd tentatively allowed melted away, and dual sensations of arousal and fury swept through her in a conflagration. Half of her wanted nothing more than to rock his world in a bed; the other half wanted to shove him off a tall cliff. Did he have to persist in mocking her at every opportunity? There was no need for his cruelty. What the hell was wrong with him? What was it about her, specifically, that drew his contempt so keenly?

To her horror, tears prickled her eyelids. She spun on her heel and strode away without a word, head high and shoulders back.

"Briemme!" she heard one of the twins call. "Come back, Briemme!"

"Daddy," said the other in a chastising tone, "you are not funny."

 _No, Daddy, you're not funny._ She went right up to her room, put in her ear buds to listen to music, and began to put together a detailed synopsis of  Prime Cut, including the horrific way the cowboy murder victim would be slain. Flaying, she decided with relish, and her fingers flew over the keyboard at the speed of light.

His brother would take part in the group-killing for being an embarrassment to the family, and the female guests would do it because he'd leered at them one too many times. His coworkers would join in out of jealousy that he was getting way more pussy than they were. There was a contradiction in there— how could he get truckloads of pussy if the women were hostile enough to take up filleting knives against him?— but eh, she'd straighten it all out in the second draft.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments! I'm so relieved the story's going over well :D

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~*~

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Brienne didn’t emerge again until lunchtime. No questions were asked as to why she’d spent her first morning on the ranch cloistered in her room, but everyone seemed to know that Jaime was somehow responsible for it. It resulted in him being subjected to quite a few cool stares and fiery glares, courtesy of the Stark sisters, while confusion had reigned supreme from Jeyne and Pod. Aunt Genna and Tyrion looked disgusted with him, and the twins’ reproachful gazes made him feel two inches tall— they hadn’t understood what their father had done to drive away their new friend, but they sure knew that it was his fault she had left.

Arianne didn’t seem to mind Jaime’s rudeness toward Brienne one bit, if the come-hither glances he’d been fielding from her all day were any indication. She seemed awfully sure of her positive reception, and why not? She was absolutely gorgeous, a pocket goddess of petite curves and long sable hair waving to the middle of her back and dainty features and flawless, tawny skin.

So why was he so preoccupied with catching the extraordinary gaze of the irritating wench who’d almost shot him? Instead of returning Arianne’s flirtatious glances with some of his own, he was spending more time staring down the long table to its opposite end, where Brienne was having an animated conversation with his brother. She was vastly more palatable when she was happy, he noted, her smile lighting up her face into something almost lovely. Definitely appealing, although Jaime admitted he might be biased, because of those eyes.

Those _eyes_. The previous night, when she’d rescued him from certain death by Angry Arya, and he’d been able to see her in full light, he’d just been… shocked. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting— a muddy hazel, perhaps, to go with the lackluster rest of her?— but instead was confronted with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen in a woman’s face. Dark cobalt outer rim, with a surprising gold inner rim around the pupil, and between them: a blue both deep and bright, startling in its intensity. They’d actually surprised him into silence, no mean feat, as Jaime was generally acknowledged to be a talker.

They’d nearly knocked him on his ass that morning, too, when he’d found her entertaining his children with the instinctual ease of a natural mother. The way she’d looked at Tommen and Myrcy, like she’d fallen in love with them at first sight, the way she’d smiled at them, the gentleness of her hands when she’d lifted and held them… somehow, it felt like she’d been looking and smiling at and touching Jaime, too. More regret had risen in him, to join what he already had stewing inside from the night before, and he’d wanted to make amends.

But he’d never really had to rely on anything approaching verbal skill to get along with women. The first half of his adult life, he’d been with Cersei— no seduction techniques needed there— and after her death, thanks to his looks, all he’d really needed to do was smile at a woman and she was generally his for the taking.

So when the time came for him to have a conciliatory interaction with the woman, he choked and ended up flirting. _Badly_ , it would seem, because her beautiful eyes had widened with surprise and hurt and, if he weren’t mistaken, tears before she walked away. _What had he done wrong?_ He had to figure out how to communicate with her, or the next week would be pure hell.

Jaime tried to disguise his inattention to Arianne with tending to his children, which wasn’t really a pretense, as it was always a chore to get them to finish their meals.

“Briemme!” they kept shrieking, eager for her attention. She wasn’t exactly helping, because she was answering them with nonsense like “Yes, my muffin?” and “What is it, little chicken?”

“I’m not a little chicken,” corrected Myrcy. “I’m a lion cub.” Then she roared. It was adorable, with her high-pitched voice and the way she wrinkled her nose. If the melting expression on Brienne’s face was any indication, she found it just as charming as Jaime did.

“Is that right?” Brienne asked, clearly amused.

“Daddy’s a lion, so we’re his cubs,” Tommen explained.

Brienne flicked an unimpressed glance at Jaime. Its dismissiveness irked him but he just concentrated on chewing his sandwich.

Tyrion stepped bravely into the breach. “Our family’s sigil is a lion rampant, and our motto is ‘hear me roar’, so there’s an old— and probably not very funny— inside joke about all of us being lions.”

“Briemme, are you a lion, too?” Myrcy asked.

“No, I’m not anything,” Brienne said, looking taken aback by the question. “My family’s sigil is a sun and moon.”

“Brienne is an angel in human form,” Sansa announced, casting a challenging eye around the table in search of dissenters.

“Ugh,” complained the angel in human form. “Not only impossible, but ridiculous.”

It _was_ ridiculous, because if the woman was anything, it was a wench: sassy, saucy, impertinent, and mouthy. And now that he’d seen what her ass looked like in tight jeans, he was starting to have inappropriate thoughts about not only that ass, but the rest of her, as well.

“Are you going to make me list all the ways it fits you?” Sansa asked Brienne with a teasing smile. Jaime got the idea that this was an ‘argument’ they had frequently.

“Damned well better not,” grumbled the angel, more surly by the second.

“Visenya,” said Arya around a mouthful of salad. “If there were ever a Targaryen warrior goddess in the flesh, it’s Brienne.”

That comparison seemed to please the former angel much better, though she still seemed embarrassed, if the blush creeping up her throat were any indication. Jaime found himself wondering how if the blush also spread in the other direction, and how far down it went. A prickle down his spine announced another worrying flare of sexual awareness.

Then he shook his head and forcibly directed his attention to Arianne, who’d been spending the meal eating seductively at him. She bestowed upon him a sensual smile full of promise, which he returned with interest, but he couldn’t resist a look at Brienne, who had noticed his interplay with Arianne and rolled her glorious eyes before resuming discussion with Tysha.

Now his ‘irked’ ratcheted up to ‘vexed’. He wondered if Brienne would mock him if he’d been trading lingering glances full of sensual promise with _her_ instead of Arianne, and found his breath coming quicker in a way it hadn’t with the other woman.

_What the hell is that about?_

Jaime gave an internal groan. Was this his natural gravitation toward a challenge rearing its unwelcome head again? It had already gotten him into plenty of trouble in his life. His existence was complicated enough as it was, raising two toddlers and refraining from killing his annoying father and wrangling all the people in his department at Lannister Financial and conquering the logistics of being an adult in general. He did not need the added issue of feeling attraction for an unsuitable, difficult, oversensitive female.

He doggedly flirted with Arianne the rest of the meal and when it was over, offered to give her a one-on-one lesson on rope tying, the subtext of which she grasped without difficulty, and when they left the table for the corrals outside, he was feeling far more himself.

The afternoon passed without incident, with Sandor training the rest of the women on tying ropes into lariats. Arianne wasn’t very good at it, requiring a lot of hand-over-hand demonstration necessitating Jaime standing behind her, arms around, to show precisely what she needed to do. She was a warm, fragrant bundle in his embrace, and she kept turning her head to make eye contact, which brought their faces close together. It would be effortless to bring their mouths together, to initiate a kiss as she doubtless intended, but a decade and a half of Cersei’s horror of indiscretion had drilled into him a similar aversion; the idea of being witnessed by the others made him uncomfortable in the extreme.

Well, the idea of being witnessed by Brienne, at least. He didn’t think he could survive her scorn if she saw him in a clinch with Arienne. Or anyone else, for that matter. Jaime sighed and detached himself from the woman so she could try it on her own for the twenty-fourth time.

Thus went the rest of the afternoon. Even after progressing from lariat-tying to lariat-throwing, Arianne required close assistance and supervision, so he found himself tethered to her side for the duration, no matter how he tried to amble off to see how the others— mostly Brienne— were doing.

Pod and Sandor seemed to be keeping things well in hand, though, if the laughter and smiling happening on the other side of the corral were any indication. It made him feel a bit left out, because there was no laughter on his side of the corral, and the only smiles were on Arianne’s part, and meant to seduce him, and thus not very fun. Jaime heard Brienne laugh again and wished he were over there with them, instead.

He was very glad when Tyrion emerged from the lodge and announced dinner in a half-hour. He hastened from Arianne’s side, pleading the need to wash the twins up for the meal, and indeed it did take quite a bit of wrangling to get them upstairs, hands and faces washed and hair combed, then back downstairs into their booster seats at the table to either side of him. They were hungry that night, however, so he didn’t have to resort to too much stern fathering to get them to eat and thus could pay attention to the discussion happening at the far end of the table, where Brienne was having a lively conversation with Tyrion and Sansa.

His end of the table, besides the children, featured Arianne— again eating alluringly at him— and Sandor, who tried to never speak if he could manage it. Pod, on the other side of Arianne and looking both terrified by and attracted to her in turns, wasn’t talking, either. Jeyne sat to Sandor’s other side and alternated bites of food with frightened glances at the huge, scarred cowboy. Tysha and Arya were both quiet sorts, seemingly happy to just watch and smile at the others talking.

Tyrion, Jaime was well aware, had a great gift of gab, and Sansa had already shown herself to be an excellent conversationalist, but Brienne was the big surprise. When she relaxed and felt at ease, she was actually very personable. Amusing and intelligent, her face was so animated that he found himself watching her and smiling just to see how brightly she lit up the room.

It was only at the end of the meal that she realized how he was observing her. Over the course of just a few minutes, her brightness dimmed, smiles fading away to nothing as she just picked at the remains of her food. Finally she stood and asked Pod if he’d help her so she could have a last horse ride before dark, and was gone in a flash, Pod trailing in her wake.

Tyrion shot a suspicious glance down the table at Jaime, who felt a flicker of outrage. He hadn’t done a damned thing for at least an hour, hadn’t even said a word in twenty minutes, possibly a record for him.

How was it his fault that the very sight of him sent the woman into a downward spiral?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your feedback, I appreciate your kind words and knowing you're enjoying the story :)

It took quite a while for her nerves to settle after a tense day, and Brienne only returned to the ranch from her last-minute ride when it was so dark it was foolhardy to keep going. She’d assured young Podrick that she’d grown up on a farm and been taking care of horses for years and sent the young ranch hand off to bed. She removed the horse’s tack and giving her a good currying, then making sure she had feed, Brienne demurred from the bonfire for the second night in a row, hastening upstairs to get a little writing done before sleeping, but concentration was elusive.

Cowboy Lannister had persisted in watching her the entire afternoon, his expression each time more and more incredulous. It was just as bad at dinner; she was sure he’d stared at her the whole meal, and by the time she noticed, his expression had been amazed, like he was witness to something that beggared the imagination. It had made her feel self-conscious and even more hideous than usual.

_Oh, and horny._ He also made her feel incredibly horny. Couldn’t forget that, no matter how she tried. The soft light shining from the dining room wall sconces threw his extraordinary face into all sorts of devastating angles, and drew golden glints in the green eyes peering at her so intently. His quick smiles were flashes of white against his tanned skin and she just wanted to lick him _everywhere_.

Brienne let out a frustrated whimper and hung her head. She had to quell an urge to churn out a scorching sex scene just to vent the frustration she was feeling, and after a long, steadying breath, she went back to writing her book instead.

She was quite satisfied with herself when she went to bed, and woke up the next morning feeling good, too. Brienne only ever needed a few minutes to prepare for her day: a quick washing of face and brushing of teeth before donning her old work clothes from when she’d still lived at with her father and helped tend the farm, a comb through her hair, and she was ready.

Soon the other women were joining her downstairs, still knuckling sleep from their eyes. Arianne and Jeyne looked unhappy to have been told to leave off fancy outfits and hairdos, but Arya was grimly focused and ready to go, while Sansa’s fresh-scrubbed face and ponytail made her look like the spokesmodel for a skincare line.

Cowboy Lannister was there as well, a twin to either side, expertly managing to cut their food small and ensure it actually made it into their mouths while shoveling a steady supply of bacon directly into his own pie-hole. She felt a pang to see how easy and affectionate he was with them, and how comfortable and happy they were in return. It was intensely frustrating because it made him even more attractive, and that, Brienne did not need. She was already having trouble keeping her perspective on him.

She took the empty seat furthest away from him, next to Pod, who, two days into their stay, was finally relaxing around them and even flashed her a smile.

Sandor’s face was even more gruesome in the unforgiving light of day, however, and he looked a bit tense. Sansa had the seat opposite him and aimed an encouraging smile in his direction every time she caught his eye, which just seemed to unnerve him further.

_What a strange bunch of people work here._ Between Tyrion’s stature, Pod’s nervous condition, Sandor’s scars, and Jaime’s narcissistic personality disorder, they were a mess. She could only hope that poor Tysha had some semblance of normalcy, or how else would they manage to function?

Then again… she had no room to talk. Sansa was pathologically inclined to bend over backwards to please others, Jeyne had the courage of a month-old stalk of celery, Arianne suffered from a terminal case of hypersexuality, and Brienne herself was not only ugly but tied for first place with Arya for the gold medal in Carrying Chips on One’s Shoulder. People were people everywhere, and everyone had problems. She had no right chucking boulders at other’s glass houses when she lived in the frailest one of all.

“You seem to be writing even more busily than usual,” Sansa said to Brienne as they settled in for their meal and began to dig in. Brienne paused in loading her plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, and a biscuit slathered with honey. “New book?”

Brienne was exquisitely conscious of the men present, and how they all shifted their attention to her at Sansa’s words. “Yes,” she murmured, and took a bite.

“Who are you killing this time?” asked Arianne. Her dark eyes were amused over the rim of her juice glass.

“A cowboy,” Brienne murmured, smiling down at her plate, and laughter sprang up around the table. She steadfastly did not look in Jaime’s direction. “I thought of making it a bit like Murder on the Essosi Express,” she said after another bite, and this time Tyrion laughed the loudest of all.

Brienne glanced up to find Jaime frowning, confused.

“It’s where someone is so universally despised that all the suspects are guilty,” Tyrion explained. “They all killed him, together.”

Brienne chanced another look in Jaime’s direction and found him staring at her, perplexed. Did he really have no notion of a woman disliking him? She grinned down at her plate some more.

“I really liked how you offed the jerk-off in Main Corpse,” said Arya, with an aggression in her voice that held layers of meaning. “It was shitty, the way he treated the murderer, with that bet about who could trick her into giving up her virginity. He totally deserved to be hanged from a tree like that.”

“ _You_ wrote that? _You_ _’re_ Duncan Tallman?” asked Jaime, looking poleaxed with astonishment.

Brienne felt her temper bristle; had he never heard of pseudonyms? Was it so damned shocking that she might be capable of creating a successful line of mysteries? She reluctantly turned toward him and gave him a stiff nod.

“I love your books! I pre-order them so I get them the first day they’re released! Can I get you to autograph one for me?”

He was smiling happily at her, as if they could just have a normal conversation like two regular adults. As if she should just forget what a complete douche-nozzle he’d been to her.

“Thank you,” she said coldly. “And no.”

His smile fell away. He stared at her, his face utterly blank, but she just returned her attention to her plate and busied herself with cleaning it, ignoring the awkward resumption of chat among the others. By the time she had finished, the tension seemed to have dispelled, and no one was paying her any mind when she pushed back her chair to stand.

Pod leaned in and whispered, “I’ll teach you to rope, if you like.”

“Yes, thanks,” she replied, and followed him out of the lodge, though the hairs on the nape of her neck prickled at the knowledge that Cowboy Lannister was watching her as she went. No matter; she had plenty to keep her occupied.

Pod taught her how to coil and grip the rope, and how to toss it just-so, and within an hour she was looping the lariat around the fence post more often than not. Brienne grinned with pleasure. She was doing much better than the other women, whose upper body strength wasn’t what it could be. Most of their attempts were falling far short of their goals.

_All these muscles are good for something, I guess._ If only she could spend her life roping fence posts; she’d have found her true calling at last.

She went to the post and tugged the lariat free, and when she turned to walk back to her throwing point, it was to find that Jaime had replaced Pod.

“You’re a natural,” he praised her, and she had the curious sensation of being fiercely pleased while also really irritated _and_ having no idea how to behave around him. She settled for a cool nod, coiled her rope, and prepared to throw it once more.

“Take a few steps back,” he said, seemingly unaware or uncaring of her clear hostility. “You can throw farther than that. Or do you want to try it from horseback?”

She did. “Yes, thank you.” She turned right away toward the stables, intent on fleeing him, and clamped her molars together when he joined her, his legs matching her own long strides effortlessly. She decided to ignore him, but he began a running conversation that didn’t appear to need any sort of response on her part.

She stopped short and faced him. His chatter cut off as if she’d flipped a switch.

“Listen,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do. Maybe you feel guilty for being a dick, and your conscience won’t rest until you get me to forgive you. Or maybe you just can’t stand when a woman doesn’t fawn all over you. But I’m not going to forgive you— you’re well old enough to know better than to be that rude to a perfect stranger— and I’m sure as hell not going to fuck you. So just say whatever you want to say so we can move the hell _on_.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your lovely comments, and my incredibly conscientious beta, Mikki, for going over everything another dozen times.

Well, Jaime couldn’t protest that he _didn_ _’t_ deserve it. He _totally_ deserved it. But that didn’t make it easier to not only let her talk without interrupting— interrupting being one of the things he was best at— but not biting back with more invective criticizing her looks, her personality, her very cellular composition in retaliation for being so unreceptive to his attempts at a truce.

He’d imagined it going the way things usually did, on the rare occasions when a woman was displeased by him: he’d smile rakishly and offer a charming apology, she’d blush and stammer out her acceptance of his regrets, and they’d either go their separate ways in peace or learn to deal with each other in a neutral capacity. Never had one held a grudge as Brienne did. In addition to her being prickly, and talented, and sharp-tongued, and fantastic with his children, he was learning that she was stubborn as hell.

Unfortunately for her, so was he. And he was going to get her to accept his apology if it killed them both.

Judging by the fierceness of the glint in her eyes, it just might.

“Okay, fine,” he said, bowing his head wearily as he put his hands on his hips. “I want you to forgive me to do away with the tension between us every time we’re anywhere near each other. It’s ruining the experience for the other guests, and Tyrion is all stressed out that you’ll leave early and cost him a bundle, or leave terrible Yarp reviews or something. I don’t want to be responsible for his business going tits-up because I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word. She folded her arms across her chest and stared, her entire body an expression of challenge.

“…undiplomatic?” he finished at last.

She rolled her eyes and stomped off toward the stables once more.

He jogged after her. “I’m willing to entertain the notion that I may, possibly, have been a jerk to you when we first met.”

She slanted him a glare of pure hostility as they entered the stables. “Can you half-ass that a little more? It wasn’t quite non-committal enough.”

“Okay, fine,” he repeated. _Gods, she was stubborn_. “I absolutely was a jerk to you when we first met.”

She harumphed and went to Glory’s stall, opening the door and leading the mare out to be saddled. “You were an absolute, colossal dickbag.”

She certainly had a way with words. _No wonder she_ _’s a writer._ He tried to come up with a humorous reaction to keep from shouting at her, or shaking her, or maybe pushing her onto a pile of straw and yanking off her jeans with his teeth. There must be something very wrong with him, because his cock seemed to think this verbal sparring was foreplay; he edged a little behind a sawhorse with a saddle slung over it so his interesting condition was not quite so obvious.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” was all he managed, knowing he should keep his mouth shut but _gods_ , she was so fun to rile up, and he was pretty sure her nipples were hard under her shirt. There was a good chance he could get her so angry she’d put her hands on him, and then—

And _then_ —

"I shouldn't have insulted your looks when there's so much else to make fun of,” he continued, unwisely, as Brienne led the horse out of the stable and toward the corral where Sansa was being instructed by Sandor. “Like the stick up your ass, and your allergy to fun."

Brienne sucked in a deep, deep breath. She glanced over to where the twins were squabbling over a toy on the porch, while Genna looked benignly on. The expression on her homely, fascinating face was of rage and pity, pity for Myrcy and Tommen, and he knew then that she wanted to criticize his parenting.

A tidal wave of fury rose up in him, tinging his vision red.

“I know you want to say something about how I’m raising my children,” he ground out, taking a step toward her until they were almost nose to nose, “and you’d better not dare, because you don’t know shit about them, or me. I’ve raised them by myself since they were a month old, and they’re _perfect._ ”

The anger drained from her face with an abruptness that made him blink. “Yes, they are,” she said. “I wasn’t going to—”

He quirked a skeptical brow at her, feeling his muscles unwind and his anger fade as her body language abruptly changed from aggression to something softer. Receptive, almost.

She ducked her head, guilty. “Okay, I _was_ , but I wouldn’t have meant it, and I’d have felt awful about it afterward.” She paused, tilting her head to study him. “All by yourself?”

Jaime felt his face fall into the usual stiff expression that came over him any time he had to speak of Cersei. “Their mother died a month after they were born.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes, somehow, became bigger as she gazed at him in dismay. She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. “Jaime, I’m so sorry.”

He stared down at where she was touching him, forcing a swallow past the lump in his throat. Her sympathy was almost palpable, and he was entirely sure he didn’t deserve even a little of it. Not from her, not after how terrible he’d been to her. This must have been what Sansa meant when she said that Brienne always forgot how worthless people were, because she looked like she wanted to make him a cup of tea and settle him into a chair by the fire with a warm blanket and ensure nothing bad ever happened to him again.

The damned thing was, he kind of wanted her to. The idea of being taken care of— by _her_ — was insanely appealing, for reasons he did not want to explore at that moment. All he could think was how Cersei would have thought she was a fool, and a sap, in addition to being hideous;  she’d have spurned Brienne’s kindness, thrown it in her face.

Except Brienne wasn’t hideous to Jaime, not anymore. Not for at least a day, anyway. And her kindness meant more to him than he could ever have expected.

“Thank you,” he replied at last, his voice hoarse, and he averted his eyes while he coughed a little. Brienne withdrew her hand, and he only just stopped himself from reaching out to hold it there, to keep her warmth on his skin a little longer. When he looked back up at her, her face had pinkened and she was shifting nervously back and forth from one foot to another, her fingers toying nervously with Glory’s reins.

 _She was shy,_ he realized with dawning glee. _Oh, yes._ Teasing her, making her blush even harder, would be the best fun in the world. She looked adorable, all pink and shuffling awkwardly, and he felt an evil grin spread across his face. Brienne froze at the sight of it, putting him in mind of prey knowing it had been spotted by a predator. Some feral part of Jaime perked up, wanting to give chase, wanting her to submit, wanting her pinned beneath him while he thrust in—

A tiny hitch in her breath was the only indication he had, but somehow she knew what he was thinking. Was it something in his face? Something in the way his body had tensed? The air between them seemed to thicken, the moment stretching long and golden, like a stream of honey, as their eyes caught and held.

“I…” Brienne began and trailed off, her voice a mere whisper. “I have to…”

Her mouth shut and she just stared at him helplessly, like she’d run out of words but couldn’t tear herself away, and Jaime felt desire prickle down his back, all along his spine. The place on his forearm where she’d touched him seemed like it were burning. He watched with great interest as she swallowed, the ripple moving down her long pale throat as his lips wanted to.

“Brienne!” called Sansa, “are you joining us? Look at me!” She waved happily from atop her own mount, looking kind of ridiculous in how poorly she sat the Western saddle. As he watched, she dropped her rope and Jaime could actually see Sandor’s shoulders move as he heaved a big sigh and picked it up, handing it back to her for what was surely the tenth time that day.

Her friend, on the other hand, sat a horse as if born in the saddle. While Sansa had been carrying on, Brienne had hoisted herself onto Glory’s back, her feet placed just right in the stirrups. Her tailbone was tucked under to prevent her spine from getting jarred when galloping over uneven ground, and her muscles were loose, moving with the horse instead of against it, thighs flexing in a way that had his palms itching to stroke her legs from hip to ankle. The sheer physicality of her, the height and strength of her, was in such opposition to the softness of her heart and gentleness of her hands, and something shifted inside the very depths of him.

Jaime heard a rushing in his ears. The rush became a whisper— _this one_ — and he had to curb the impulse to drag her off the horse and kiss her until canaries flew in circles over their heads.

Brienne looked down at him, and while her face was blank, her eyes blazed, perfect star sapphires in an imperfect but fascinating setting.

“I don’t know if I forgive you,” she told him, but the hostility was gone from her voice, “but I won’t keep pushing back at you, either.”

“I like when you push back at me, wench,” he said without thinking. It was true. Even knowing she likely hated him, he felt invigorated every time she opened her mouth. His mind filled with various scenes of debauchery wherein she was ‘pushing back’ at him in a variety of positions, and he swiped his hat from his head to hold it, so-casually, before his crotch.

She just gave him an inscrutable look and clicked her tongue at Glory, prompting the mare to a light trot toward Sansa’s corral.

And Jaime went back to the stables and stuck his head in the cold water of the horse trough.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I've spent most of this week languishing in bed with the plague but you know one thing that keeps me cheerful when all I want is for flights of angels to sing me to my permanent rest? Reading your comments! They always put a smile on my face, and trust me, y'all, IRL I am a sour little crabapple so it's quite a feat! Thanks very much for being fab.
> 
> Also, if you are getting responses to your comments from prior chapters: I slacked on replying when the chapters were posted and missed a few of you, sorry! Please don't think I don't appreciate your feedback! <3 <3 <3

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~*~

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After their strange discussion, Brienne and Jaime seemed to enter a tentative truce, and it was wreaking hell on her nerves, because it was hard enough to rein in her impulses where he was concerned when they were openly hostile to each other. Without the buffer of animosity to keep her unruly libido in check, she caught herself having to put her greedy mitts in her back pockets to keep from reaching for him as he demonstrated how to be a cowboy. Or cowgirl, as the case might be.

A lot of it was common sense, but he was so well-practiced at it that his hands moved effortlessly and he scarcely had to look at what he was doing, instead making eye contact with his little group of students while the muscles in his forearms shifted distractingly. Distractingly to Brienne, that was; apparently not to most of the others, who apart from Arianne seemed weirdly immune to his particular type of magical pheremones or whatever it was that made him so compelling to her.

Arya had developed a friendship with Podrick, or at least, he had relaxed enough in her presence to almost stop stuttering completely. Jeyne was finding any excuse to escape the ranching lessons and head inside to learn down-home recipes from Tysha, responding well to her quiet, calm personality. With them thusly occupied, Brienne often found herself the object of Jaime’s attention, in spite of Arianne’s blatant receptiveness to any flirtations on his part that might come her way.

Except they weren’t coming her way, they were coming Brienne’s. Whenever he looked at Brienne, his gaze seemed to sharpen in the same way as they had during their odd-but-productive conversation earlier. He’d looked at her like that, and she’d felt like a wildebeest on the savanna, about to be run to ground and chomped on by a hungry lion.

It made her feel like she wanted to take a bite out of him, right back.

_I am in hell. This is hell._

It wasn’t, of course— there were far worse situations to be in besides feeling like you were marinating in a pool of concentrated lust for a man who barely tolerated you— but every time Brienne looked at Cowboy Lannister, she had a tough time remembering that.

And it didn’t help that Sansa and Sandor had just as much wary fascination for each other, though without the overt hostility of Brienne and Jaime. Watching her friend and the huge cowboy circling each other, at least figuratively, had been fascinating, and Brienne found herself with snippets of text floating in her head, romantic scenes building themselves in her brain to the point where she’d have to stop and swipe furiously into her phone to write them down before she forgot them. She’d never really felt the urge to write love scenes before, her stories having only nominal bits of romance in them between her crime-solving protagonist and her husband.

But the sweet tension she was observing between Sansa and Sandor, the electricity in their long glances and the charged silences that fell between them, was having a profound effect on her imagination.

The problem was that, when she sat down that evening to write out some tentative romantic scenes, the male halves of them all were troublingly similar to Jaime.

It had been far easier to hate him when he was just hot and obnoxious. Now, he was hot, obnoxious, and had a tragic back-story that made short work of her lingering resentment. She was having to fight to maintain her vexation toward him. Tragic back-story was not a valid excuse for terrible manners and cruel words!

Or so she told herself multiple times along the course of the day. At least once an hour. Usually more often, every time she found her thoughts wandering to him, which was about every two minutes. Or more. Okay, so she had developed an unhealthy obsession. And in just three days!

 _It’s a record, even for me,_ she thought, sourly recalling Renly Baratheon as a less-than-pleasant episode from her college days. It had taken her a full week to get obsessive about Renly, but perhaps that could be attributed to his complete disinterest in her as a romantic partner, having already succumbed to the comely wiles of one Loras Tyrell.

But the way Jaime looked at her did not seem all disinterested. Nor did how he’d assigned her a nickname— wench?— and that the way he said it seemed… weirdly fond.

If she hadn’t known better, Brienne might have considered that maybe— just _maybe_ —Jaime was attracted to her, as well…? Or at least, he was exhibiting all the usual signs of attraction? To _her?_

Except it didn’t make any sense, for a variety of reasons, which Brienne handily typed into a list to make it easier to talk herself out of the pesky idea that was buoying her lagging spirits, and because she was compulsive, it was even annotated.

_Reasons I Am Wrong in My Suspicion that Jaime Is Attracted to Me_

  1. _He thinks I am ugly enough for three people.*_
  2. _He believes I am stupid and reckless because I shot the snake instead of somehow magically exchanging the suitcase for the gun, even though I am a decent shot and actually killed the snake before it bit him._
  3. _Since our little truce, in spite of all the intense staring in my direction, he hasn’t spoken a word to me in any way outside his capacity as an instructor. This bothers me not in the slightest.**_
  4. _In marked contrast to item #3 above, he has been eye-fucking Arianne since breakfast yesterday. It would be no exaggeration to say that Arianne has been on him like a cheap suit  and he has done exactly nothing to discourage her. I am not jealous about this.**_
  5. _It is far more likely that if he were interested in me, it is merely in conjunction with a generalized and all-purpose desire to hook up with someone— or everyone— during the course of our stay here. Some men have “a girl in every port”; it is plausible he has a “girl in every vacation package”. In the interest of thoroughness, he has merely included me in his program of conquest.***_



_* He is not wrong. Dammit._

_** This is a lie._

_*** Note to self: attempt to subtly interrogate Tyrion re: possible history of head injuries or high fevers rendering his sense of taste in women critically compromised._

Not even trying to make it funny had her feeling any better. But just the idea of it— no matter how unlikely, nay, _impossible_ — that Jaime might actually find her attactive, made her mouth go dry, and when she looked in her glass, it was to find that she’d already drained it of iced tea. With a sigh, she stood to nip down to the kitchen for a refill, but almost as soon as she stepped out into the hallway, a small figure, naked as a jaybird, bolted from one of the other guest rooms and streaked down the hallway.

“Briemme!” shrieked the child, running full-tilt in her direction. As he drew closer, she could see he was soaking wet and covered in bubbles.

“Tommen, no running,” she admonished gently.

“I’m Myrcy!” he declared, but the tiny penis waggling in the wind revealed his lie. He skidded to a halt and peered up at her through his sodden curls.

“Whoever you are,” Brienne said, “no running. With your feet wet, you could slip and hurt yourself.” She reached down and nabbed him as he was about to dart away. “Where are you going without any clothes on?”

“I’m running away,” he informed her soberly. “I _hate_ baffs.”

“You _do_?” Brienne made sure to exaggerate her expression of surprise. “But if you don’t take your bath, you can’t have the bar of soap song when you’re done!”

“Bar of soap song?” He blinked huge, curious green eyes at her. “Whassat?”

His wet little body was making her a wet big body, but she ignored it. She’d dry.

“You don’t know the bar of soap song?” She feigned incredulity.

Her parents had used the song to best advantage in her childhood, because she hadn’t been any more willing to stop playing and bathe than Tommen was. She had used it on children for whom she’d babysat, in her teen years, too. It was foolproof and had worked every time for the under-five crowd.

“It’s a special song that you only get to hear after your bath, when your teeth are brushed and you’re in your pajamas.” She shook her head sadly. “Only _very_ good girls and boys are allowed to have the bar of soap song.”

“I’m a good boy!” he screamed in her ear, then looked past her to someone behind her. “Daddy, tell Briemme!”

She turned to see Jaime standing in the doorway, with Myrcy, similarly naked and wet, tucked under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Brienne almost reeled back against the wall in shock, because he was also shirtless and barefoot and there were soap bubbles caught in his chest hair. At least an acre of golden skin was on display and she wanted to lick every inch of it.

As she stared at him in a confused mélange of horrified lust, all sorts of muscles clenched where normally they did no such thing. Swallowing hard, she forced a smile on her face for the sake of the children. She was sure it was strained and ghastly-looking.

“I believe you,” she said. Her voice came out a little croaky. She swallowed again before addressing Tommen again. “If you finish having your bath, then your father will sing you the bar of soap song.”

“I will, huh?” said Jaime, quirking a half-smile that had the remotely-located muscles quivering once more. “Except I don’t know that song. You’re going to have to teach it to me,” he said as he hitched a squirming Myrcy up on his hip.

“I wanna hear it, Briemme,” said Myrcy, her eyes pleading as she tried to escape her father’s grasp.

Dammit, she’d sabotaged herself. “O-okay,” she quavered with reluctance, “after you’re all clean and in bed, I’ll come do the bar of soap song.”

She handed Tommen over to his father, holding her breath when the transfer brought her and Jaime entirely too close for comfort, or sanity, and stepped back with alacrity so she wasn’t more tempted than she could bear to run her fingertips over the satiny flesh of his shoulders.

“Okayseeyoulaterbye,” she blurted and fled to her room, more iced tea unnecessary now that her mouth was watering after that display of male beauty in the hallway. She tried to get some writing done, but visions of a half-naked Jaime danced in her head like sugarplums, and only ten or so minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“The twins are ready for you to serenade them,” said Jaime when she opened it. He was still half-naked, wearing only a pair of damp, snug, ancient jeans, and Brienne felt a moment’s wild impulse to just tackle him to the ground.

“Okay,” she said, wincing at how high and thready her voice sounded, and followed him down the hallway to his room.

It was larger than hers, and had a queen-sized bed on one side with bunk beds on the other. Both twins were tucked into the bottom bunk, faces shiny-clean and their fine blond hair springing up into curls around their heads as it dried. They looked adorable and she couldn’t resist leaning down to give them each a kiss.

“So, you had your baths? Teeth are brushed? Pajamas on?”

“Yes!” they shouted.

“So after I say ‘bar of soap’, you have to say ‘bar of soap’, too. Can you do that?”

“Yes!”

Brienne glanced at Jaime. He stood leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching with a look of patient amusement.

“You, uh, can go do something else for the next few minutes,” she mumbled, really not wanting him to witness this, but he only laughed.

“There’s not enough money in the world to get me to miss this,” he said, looking almost obscenely delighted in anticipation of her humiliation. “I’ve been on tenterhooks since you mentioned it, wench.”

‘Wench’ again?

“ _Fine_.” She scowled at him and turned back to the children. “So, uh, here we go!” With a deep breath, she started.

She raised an arm, used the other to fake scrubbing her armpit, and began to sing.

_Oh, I wish I were a little bar of soap!_

Jaime promptly began to cackle. She ignored him, pausing to nod to the twins, who shouted, “Bar of soap!”

The second line had her switching to pretend-wash the other armpit.

_Oh, I wish I were a little bar of soap!_

Needing no prompting this time, the twins gleefully exclaimed, “Bar of soap!”

Here was the hardest part to do with an adult audience. Brienne gulped and forced herself to do the dance move, turning in profile to the left and pantomiming running a bar of soap over her butt. Jaime snort-laughed.

_I’d go slippy-slippy-slidey_

She turned to the other side and pretended to soap up the other cheek.

_Over everybody’s hiney_

The last move was to imitate washing her ears with fingers pointed and twisting at the sides of her head.

_Oh, I wish I were a little bar of soap!_

“Bar of soap!”

Brienne gave an exaggerated bow to punctuate the end while the children burst into giggles. Jaime held his stomach and howled. Brienne knew her face was red as a rooster but she couldn’t help grinning at their delight.

“So now that you know it,” she said to Jaime, “you can do the bar of soap song every night after they’re all done and in bed.”

The twins cheered; Jaime straightened, gasping a little, and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” he said in the driest tone she’d ever heard.

“I live to serve,” she replied with a smile, knowing that at least a few weeks of him performing a nightly song-and-dance routine for his kids was in his future.

“I’ll get you for this, wench,” he muttered under his breath as she passed him to leave the room.

“You can try.” She meant it to sound challenging, but something happened to the words on their way out, and instead they sounded sultry. Beckoning. Like she was _urging_ him to try.

They were… unwisely close. His skin and hair gleamed in the light thrown from the overhead fixture, and his biceps were fairly begging her to nibble on them. Why had she tried to slip past him like that? Only a mere foot separated them, and when their eyes locked, she could see as his pupils expanded, the irises darkening from jade to emerald as he looked at her like he wanted to—

Like he wanted to—

Something leonine seemed to sharpen in his beyond-handsome face and Brienne’s muscles tensed with the instinctual impulse to run, even knowing he’d chase her, and catch her, and sink his teeth into some tender part until she cried out. And she _wanted_ it; her breath caught as she realized how much she wanted it.

She fled for her room, darting down the hall toward safety, but couldn’t resist one last look back, and there was Jaime, standing there staring after her, his expression unreadable. If Brienne weren’t who she was— if she were beautiful, or even just pretty— she’d have sworn it was desire.

But she knew who she was, and how she looked, and that Jaime only behaved himself in front of the children and barely tolerated her elsewhere. Hopeless anger rose side-by-side in her with frustration and resentment, and she hurriedly stepped inside her room and shut the door.

She wanted sex and love just as much as any woman— perhaps more, since she had no outlets for them and it had been building up in her for years. Her sexual experiences ranged from ‘hey, that wasn’t bad’ to ‘oh, not again’ but none of it had been worth putting up with how her boyfriends had treated her outside of bed, or even inside of it. Hyle had fucked her like her presence was incidental, Ronnet with contempt. Tormund’s weird blend of earthy physicality and reverence had made her feel like she was being worshipped by a Neanderthal, and was a fluke, anyway; no one else was about to venerate her like that again, fortunately.

She had given up on ever having a relationship where she was desired and valued in a normal way. It was all so futile, and would never happen. Not with a man Brienne actually desired, or even just a man who would be decent to her. Her only chances were with men who deemed her firmly in the ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ zone and thought they could treat her like shit because she’d be too desperate to risk losing them.

She decided that, in lieu of getting any more writing done, she’d have a bath; the tub in her room was a thing of beauty, wide and deep and with massaging jets. Maybe if she soaked for long enough, it would wash away any futile longing that Jaime had stirred up.

Or perhaps she’d fall asleep and drown.

Either option was acceptable to her.

She ended up imagining Jaime fucking her in the tub, and masturbating furiously, almost biting through her lip in a mostly-successful effort to stifle her scream when she came hard enough to burst a blood vessel.

Then, hating herself, she went to bed and slept. Angrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra points if you know where the bar of soap song is from!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments and well-wishes, I'm feeling better today (though still coughing and coughing and coughing). Blergh. 
> 
> YOU GUYS check out the amazing photoset WackyGoofball did for this story! She's a genius. Thank you so much, Wacky One! <3
> 
> (the story is below the photoset, just keep scrolling)

 

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~*~

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Jaime spent the next day contriving ways to spend time with Brienne, but it was obvious to him that she was just as busily contriving ways to avoid him, doubtless mortified beyond endurance at her impromptu song-and-dance routine the night before.

She’d clearly been embarrassed, but he’d thought it was one of the most endearing and hilarious things he’d ever seen. And he had to give her credit for following through with it: most adults he knew would have reneged on their promise to a pair of toddlers before subjecting themselves to something that made them feel so ridiculous.

That all-too-brief moment after, though, had kept him up, wakeful and hard, indulging in fantasies of being the one to rub soap over her ass and everywhere else, which escalated to imagining a variety of ways he wanted to fuck her. There was a good chance she’d let him, too, if the way she’d ogled him repeatedly meant anything. The lustful droop of lids over her lovely eyes, the rapid way her chest rose and fell, the way she licked her lips like she was on the verge of biting into something delicious…

The eye contact alone had been enough to make him hard. He’d suffered an inconvenient erection throughout tucking the twins in and, with no sign of its dissipation as a sleepless hour passed,  he’d hied himself to the bathroom to enjoy slowly jerking off while imagining Brienne’s mouth around his cock and her eyes gazing up at him, a blaze of brilliant blue that filled his vision when he came and came and came.

After a fruitless day trying to get a moment alone with her, dinner that night was much the same as the others, with Brienne and Sansa and Tyrion dazzling the rest of them with their verbal acrobatics. Having warmed up to the rest of the group by now, Jeyne and Sandor even ventured into the discussion at times. Arya usually kept quiet except for the occasional pithy interjection, and even Pod spoke up once or twice.

At his end of the table, however, it was only Jaime with Arianne and the twins, none of whom he’d count as sparkling conversationalists. Arianne seemed to prefer to throw condescending glances at the antics of the rest of the table, and the twins’ focus was more on finger-painting with their mashed potatoes and gravy.

Brienne’s contributions were in the form of wry observations and amusing anecdotes, and Jaime dearly wanted to contribute as well— he’d thought up several very witty responses to various comments so far— but the memory of her frosty response when he’d asked for her autograph had him staying mum.

It made him feel chastised, which made him recall how Cersei had always had some criticism no matter how he’d tried to conform to her expectations, which made him resentful enough that by the time the meal was over and two shiny little faces were turned expectantly up to him, post-bath, he was feeling very darkly about Brienne Tarth altogether.

Especially since she had made tracks to the stables right after dinner was over, voicing the intent of taking a last ride before it got dark, but with a nervous glance in his direction revealing her fervent desire to avoid another repeat of the performance she’d had to do the previous night.

Feeling stupider than he ever had in his life, and thoroughly relieved that he had only his tiny children to witness the ignominy of it, he did the bar of soap song and dance as best he could recall. It might have just been that toddlers were not the most discerning of audiences, but when they cheered and applauded, he thought that perhaps he hadn’t fucked it up all that badly. And it was worth it, seeing how happy it made them. Still, he was glad it was all over and made haste to leave the room as soon as they were asleep and the baby monitor speaker was clipped to his shirt pocket.

The merry half of the group, _sans_ Brienne, was massed around the half of the nightly bonfire closest to the lodge. Rowdy and raucous, they had seduced even Arya and Pod over to the light side. Sandor wasn’t a fan of the nightly conflagration, keeping to the hay bales at the extreme edge of the area lit-up by the flames, but he could always be trusted to have some sort of hooch secreted somewhere on his substantial person, and Jaime felt in the need of some fortification.

Arianne seemed to share that need, because by the time Jaime arrived where Sandor had fashioned a sort of armchair out of hay bales and ensconced himself for the evening, she had perched herself to his side and was sipping daintily from the flask the cowboy had produced. Lit up gold and red and orange, with Arianne’s sly amusement and Sandor’s taciturn visage craggy from the scars, they looked like the lord and lady of some hellish realm of legend, though the lord’s attention was focused entirely at Sansa, on the other side of the fire.

Jaime found a nearby bale of his own and plopped down, resting his forearms on his knees and sighing, feeling weary. It had been a tough three days, and there were still four to go. He accepted the flask from Arianne and took a swig, wincing at the high proof of whatever lighter fluid Sandor kept in there. While he swallowed, Arianne trailed her gaze over his face, lingering at his mouth before continuing down his throat and back up again.

She really was lovely, with tawny skin and dark winged brows over sloe eyes. Her curvy figure was the stuff of dreams, and he could easily picture her in a pin-up dress from the 50s, all bosomy cleavage and lush hips. But the sardonic curl of her lips and half-mast position of her eyelids as she observed their companions reminded him unpleasantly of Cersei, and how she’d felt nothing but contempt for everyone but herself and Jaime, and toward the end, even for Jaime as well. It was the gaze of a world-weary queen surveying subjects who would never reach her exacting standards.

Brienne’s open expression and wide eyes superimposed themselves over Arianne’s face for the breadth of a second and surprised him with how much he preferred them. She was a pain in the ass, with the smartest mouth he’d ever heard, and her face wasn’t much to speak of— to put it lightly— but those eyes were magnificent. And after a lifetime of playing “guess why I’m upset today” with Cersei, the appeal of Brienne’s honesty and earnestness could not be denied. He had a feeling _she_ would never make him guess.

Instead of making him grimace at the idea of Brienne haranguing him about his failings, it brought a tiny grin to his face, because he had a feeling that trying to jolly her back into a good mood would be… fun. It would involve teasing, and probably a lot of kissing, and possibly some groping. The thought of those full lips of hers, while too disproportionate for beauty, had been keeping him awake the last two nights with speculation of how they’d feel under his. And maybe around something else.

Why he would be contemplating such a thing had been baffling him. She was the most unfortunate collection of physical traits he’d ever seen, and yet for each weird body part that didn’t fit with the rest, there was a disturbing pull. Each thing had meaning beyond how it merely appeared. Her crooked nose and the mangled ruin of her cheek were testaments to her resilience, and her big hands were built for gentleness, as he’d seen when she’d held his babies.

Her limbs were too long but _gods_ , they looked like they’d wrap around him better than anything else, and he didn’t even mean just for sex (though her legs, shit, he’d been thinking about them just as often as her lips) but for embracing, holding. He hadn’t been held by anyone but his children for years and sometimes he felt like he was starving to death.

Jaime took another swig and eyed Arianne again. He couldn’t picture her spending much time holding a man unless it were in a sexual capacity. And she seemed the type to want to extract herself from a lover’s embrace and saunter off for a shower as soon as possible, besides. No falling in a sweaty, sated heap after a thunderous orgasm, then clinging to each other while the tremors faded.

He’d bet Brienne would cling for an hour. Longer, even. She seemed a little needy, and if he were honest, he kind of liked the idea of being needed for once, of being necessary to someone else, rather than the beggar with his hand out for more, as he’d always been with Cersei.

But he had no chance in hell of getting anywhere with Brienne, he saw as she approached the bonfire from the stables, having just returned from her prolonged jaunt, if the narrow glance she slanted him were any indication. He averted his gaze and met Arianne’s, which was amused and… expectant, somehow, waiting for him to do something. Probably make an ass out of himself yet again. He sighed and hoped his smile looked suave instead of sheepish. Her eyes sharpened and took an on avaricious gleam.

Maybe he should give her a chance. If he could perceive more in Brienne despite all the visual obstacles, surely there was more to Arianne, too.

Sandor tucked the flask into his vest pocket, about to stand. “I’d better go check she curried her horse right,” he muttered, more to himself than them.

Jaime’s eyes flickered to Arianne’s. They gleamed golden in the lambent glow of the flames. Her face was wreathed in shadows and firelight, a mystery just waiting to be solved.

“I’ll do it,” he found himself saying to Sandor, and then, to Arianne, “Keep me company?”

She hopped down from her hay bale and brushed a leisurely hand over her backside to remove any stray clingers. “Sure.”

They strolled away from the bonfire in a silence that wasn’t quite companionable, a little fraught with an enjoyable tension, long familiar to Jaime. This was how it felt when two people, mutually attracted, and confident enough in themselves to be relaxed about it, were on their way to having sex. Memories of Cersei swept him; how many times had it been the same way for them?

He hadn’t even touched Arianne yet, but he knew she was receptive, that he could be root-deep in her within the next ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. He hoped he still had a condom stashed in his vest pocket from the last time he’d been at the ranch and feeling optimistic enough to need it.

The interior of the stables was dark and cool, with the soft rustling of animals hunkered down for the night. Jaime didn’t bother to flick the overhead light on, just grabbed a flashlight from a hook by the wide-open door and started down the aisle to Glory’s stall. The mare, tired from her exertions of the day, was already asleep on her feet and startled awake at Jaime’s entrance.

“Sorry, girl,” he murmured, slipping past her to inspect her bed of straw and feed bucket. Both were fresh. He gave a quick inspection to the state of her coat and hooves and found them all pristine. He had to grant that, however touchy Brienne might be, she at least knew how to care for a horse. He slipped back out and closed the stall door.

Arianne had not spent her time waiting idly; her shirt was already unbuttoned when he turned back to her, its open panels parted to reveal smooth skin that glowed in the dim moonlight managing to penetrate the stables’ gloom. The voluptuous inner curves of her breasts drew his focus like a bull’s-eye on a target. Jaime reached out and, with the tip of one finger, tugged down the lacy cup of her bra, revealing a dusky-rose nipple that pouted for attention right before his eyes.

He stepped closer, nudging her toward the tack room wall as his mouth settled on hers. She obligingly parted her lips and welcomed him in for a slow mating of tongues. His hand found her breast, cupping and shaping it in rhythm with their kiss. Her arms slid around his neck, fingers carding his hair, and his other hand took hold of one shapely ass-cheek, gripping it and pressing closer to align their hips.

She tasted good, smelled good, felt good. She seemed to think the same about him, if her enthusiastic participation was anything to go by.

So why was Jaime bored?

_No, that was ridiculous._ How could he be bored with a gorgeous, on-the-way-to-naked woman in his arms? He gave himself a mental shake and renewed his efforts, employing his tongue deftly and plucking at her nipple with agile, practiced fingers until she gave a little whimper and shimmied against him, eager for more. He evaluated his pulse and any interest possibly manifesting in his jeans.

Nope. Nothing. He could have been napping for all the excitement his body was exhibiting.

He had the weirdest sensation of just going through the motions, like he was performing an act instead of reacting from the heart, and heaved a mental sigh. It wasn’t going to work. He’d never really been a man who could feel desire without love or at least, in the case of Cersei toward the end, persisting emotional attachment. There had been a few times since her death where physical desperation had trumped his heart’s reluctance, but he was feeling no such desperation now. He knew nothing of Arianne, felt nothing for her. He couldn’t do this, but he also didn’t want to hurt her feelings or make an enemy of one of Tyrion’s guests.

“This isn’t the place,” he murmured, kissing across her cheek from mouth to ear, then nipping lightly at the lobe. He gently shifted her bra back into place, then buttoned her shirt. “If someone sees us here, I’ll never hear the end of it from Tyrion.”

She slanted a half-smile at him, and somehow managed to make unzipping her jeans and retucking her shirt look seductive. “I don’t mind being seen, but it would be better somewhere more… horizontal.”

_Great, an exhibitionist._ Not that he cared all that much— he had nothing to be ashamed of— but in general preferred not to give his bouncing balls an audience when he was in the moment. And anyone who thought they had a sexy O-face was gravely mistaken. No, it was best to keep these things behind closed doors.

They departed and were just reaching the stable doors when the advent of a tall figure in the dark brought them up short. The moonlight fell unforgivingly on the irate expression of one Brienne Tarth, who looked like she was charging in loaded for bear.

“I assure you, I know how to curry a horse,” she said stiffly, clearly affronted that he’d second-guessed her care of Glory’s needs. “You don’t have to double-check my work.”

Arianne’s eyes went wide in an entertained, mischievous expression. “I’ll leave you two to duke it out without me,” she said, her tone impish. There was a wryness to the smile she flashed at Jaime as she departed, a knowledge that nothing further was going to happen between them that night.

“ _Are_ we going to duke it out?” Jaime asked Brienne lazily, even as he felt his pulse speeding up in a way it hadn’t even with Arianne’s tongue in his mouth and her tit in his hand. Crone’s Teeth, what was it about this woman that wound him up? “Any time a guest curries a horse, one of us always checks to make sure. It’s nothing personal, just ranch policy. We can’t take chances with the animals. A farm girl like you might know what you’re doing, but most of the rest of them couldn’t find their own asses with both hands and a map.”

She blinked in surprise, though whether at his admission of her competence or his comment, he couldn’t tell.

“Oh,” she said at last, sounding a little deflated. “Okay, then.” Her eyes looked almost black, in the dark as they were, but moonlight caught the inner rim of pure gold and the silvery rays spreading from her pupils. God, they were incredible, the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Jaime felt like he was standing between two mirrors reflecting each other into infinity. His breath was coming faster, and despite the taste of another woman on his lips, all he could think of was kissing this one. Heat licked along his nerve endings and he jammed his hands in his pockets to prevent them from reaching for her.

She stared at him, almost seeming frightened, which was a little alarming. He’d never laid a hand on a woman in his life, and besides, she looked like enough of a bruiser to kick his ass if he tried.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he found himself saying, because it felt important she know that she had nothing to fear from him.

The soft, confused set of her face went rigid in a second’s passing, and her eyes hardened until they glistened like stones. “You already have,” Brienne told him.

It felt like a slap; Jaime jerked back, shocked, and opened his mouth to say something— anything— but she whirled around and left him there.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the last chapter has gotten people all fired up and taking sides. Some are Team Brienne, others Team Jaime. Others are just Team When They Gonna Fuck Already. Which team are you?
> 
> I'm eager to hear what y'all think of this chapter, so LMK, you hear?

.

~*~

.

Brienne spent the next day trying to distance herself from Jaime as much as possible, more out of embarrassment than because she felt any true aversion to him. She felt like a fool for how hostile she’d been to him in the stables the previous night, when he’d been nothing but reasonable. And then admitting how much he’d hurt her, and not just by what he’d said. So much for feigning that she was a rock, an island of unassailable calm that he had no hopes of ever upsetting.

But she’d just been so shocked at the way he’d stared at her. Again, she’d had that sensation that a current of mutual attraction was flowing between them, electric and tingling, but she knew it was just wishful thinking making her think the impossible might be possible if she just wanted it enough. He’d just been in there with Arianne, for the Crone’s sake! She knew what they’d been up to. There was no way he’d go from fooling around with the beautiful, shapely Arianne and then look at Brienne with anything like the desire she thought she’d seen on his face.

After a wearying day of trying to rope things from horseback— at one point, Brienne had even been able to rope Arya, much to the younger woman’s displeasure and the amusement of everyone else— and avoiding Jaime, Brienne was pooped. She chose to have dinner on a tray in her room, pleading the desire to make inroads on her book, but really it was because she wanted some peace and quiet to ruminate over her weird interactions with Jaime the previous day.

First his half-assed apology, downshifting into a melancholic revelation of his wife’s death. His face had gone rigid, pain etched into every feature, and she’d only barely stifled the impulse to embrace him. That would not have gone over well. No one wanted to be cuddled by a big, weird, ugly stranger. Although the idea of Jaime in her arms, all that warm male body pressed up tight against her, had distracted her the rest of the afternoon.

The way he’d looked at her after that, though… Brienne scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands and tried to obliterate the image from her memory, but… the grin that took over his face made him look like a super-villain about to enact some heinous plot against humanity, with Brienne taking the brunt of it. And the gleam in his eye had her suspecting that what he meant would be less a brunt and more of a bounty, because she’d seen that look on men’s faces before.

Not aimed at _her_ , of course, but toward Sansa, the way Sandor had been doing since the very first day. Even toward Arya, on occasion? Yes. A thousand times, yes. It was that sleepy-lidded, hot-eyed look of desire that overtook a man sometimes. Brienne had observed it, and the strange alchemy of attraction in the air between the two parties, and… she had to have imagined it between Jaime and herself. There was just no way that he could possibly feel anything remotely like that for her. She was the world’s best antidote for happiness, according to him, with a stick up her ass and an allergy to fun.

Then, later, in the stables… “I’m not going to hurt you,” Jaime had said, apparently forgetting how awful he’d been the moment they had met. What kind of asshole _did_ that sort of thing?

The Cowboy Lannister kind of asshole, apparently.

And knowing he and Arianne were just on their way out of the stables after enjoying a tryst had hurt Brienne, and she couldn’t figure out why, any more than she could understand the reaction she’d had at the first sight of him. That sensation of… recognition, almost, except it made no sense at all, nor did the shock and pain she’d felt at his cruel words. He had no obligation to be pleasant to her. There was no expectation between them, of being loving to each other, or even just kind.

He wasn’t hers, no matter how much her heart felt like he was.

_This one._

She had four more days of this, and then she could escape. She could do it.

.

~*~

.

The next day, she decided to distance herself from everyone, not just Jaime, and stayed in her room to write. But she couldn’t go more than five minutes without being distracted by some thought about him, and eventually just gave up. Utterly disgusted with herself, Brienne slammed shut her laptop and went to find someone to distract her from the focus of her sad obsession.

On the way down the stairs to the lodge’s entrance foyer, she heard the twins’ sweet voices from the library and tiptoed past; she would dearly love to spend some time with them, but looking at them reminded her of their father, and that way lay madness.

Outside, Jaime was busy teaching Jeyne and Arianne how to ride. Brienne counted herself fortunate— not for the first time— that she had no such need of instruction, after all those years growing up on her family’s farm. She was pretty sure hearing Jaime’s voice describe how to grip with her thighs and feel the response in her hands would demolish the last vestiges of self-control she’d managed to hold on to.

Her nerves prickled, and yes, when she glanced in his direction, he was staring at her. She felt a blush flame to life on her cheeks and scurried away (as best a woman her size could scurry) toward the stables. Arya had gone exploring, Tysha having told her of a ghost town, Castamere, on the far side of a hill behind the lodge, but Brienne was hopeful of finding Sansa.

She was almost there when she heard a cry that sounded like a woman— Sansa— in pain, and as the eldest Stark girl had a well-known tendency for clumsiness, Brienne hastened around the wide frame of the open barn door to see what her friend had done to herself this time.

Except this time it was Sandor doing it to her.

Plowing into her from behind, that was, because Sansa was bent over a hay bale, her ponytail tumbling free over her shoulders from the force of Sandor’s thrusts. She was moaning in time to the motion of his hips, hands scrabbling at the bale for purchase so she could push back at him.

Brienne lurched to a stop and gaped in horror.

Bizarrely, all she could think was, _but it’s not even lunchtime yet_. Because having sex in a barn with a cowboy was something the etiquette manuals forbade in the morning, perhaps?

They were intent upon their task but Brienne must have made some noise— likely a choked gurgle of amazement— because they suddenly gasped and jerked away from each other, faces frozen in alarm. Sandor withdrew from Sansa, but then _kept_ withdrawing and withdrawing, like one of those scarves from a magician’s pocket. He was enormously endowed, with quite the largest dick Brienne had ever seen, and for a moment she just gazed at Sansa in frank admiration for being able to take the whole thing.

Then the full extent of the situation impressed itself upon Brienne, and she spun on her heel and fled the barn for somewhere, anywhere, less mortifying.

“Oh, wow,” she muttered to herself as she ran toward the lodge. “Oh, wow… oh, wow.” It was appalling, to have seen her friend… doing that… but at the same time… “Oh, wow.”

She slowed to a jog as she approached the lodge, assailed by the imprint the scene had made upon her mind’s eye. She couldn’t help but picture it again, but this time, the hair clustered around the base of the big dick was golden, and the body it was attached to was leanly muscled instead of bulky, and the face at the top of it was Jaime’s, wearing that sultry smile.

Brienne skidded to a stop as her entire lady-business clenched in a slow contraction. She was pretty sure her ovaries were vibrating with enthusiasm, as well. She pressed her hands to her belly and tried to breathe through the rolling wave of desire that wracked her.

“Wench! Are you okay?” Jaime shouted from the corral a few dozen yards away. Her gaze flew up to see him atop a horse, rope held loose in one hand. He and Jeyne and Arianne all stared at her in confusion. He looked unfairly, impossibly handsome, all sun-burnished and masterful up on horseback, like he could chase her down and tie her up and have his wicked way with her. Another surge of desire pulsed through Brienne, and she went bright pink, staggering to a rough-hewn bench on the lodge porch to drop weakly down onto it.

Jaime grinned, probably thinking her blush was because he was speaking to her, as if she were a teenager getting attention from her crush. She’d have been irate about his presumption, even if it were kind of true, except Pod strolled out onto the porch, saw her turning the color of Pycelle-Bismol, and asked her the same question.

She took one look at him and her treacherous brain imagined _him_ exposed and erect, too. Her face went scarlet, edging into purple. _Oh, brain, why do you hate me this much?_ If Tyrion presented himself next, she was just going to lay down and die.

“Brienne?”

She whipped her head around to find Sansa had approached from the opposite direction, looking guilty and worried. She dropped to her knees beside where Brienne was seated on the bench and laid a tentative hand on her friend’s knee.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, her lovely face grave.

“ _Are you?_ ” Brienne blurted, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Sansa’s eyes bugged out. She, too, covered her mouth with her hand, and for a protracted moment, during which Pod regarded them back and forth like a tennis match, they just stared at each other, wide-eyed. Then the idiocy of the situation broke them and they exploded.

“Can’t blame me… for being worried…” Brienne wheezed.

“Am… I… alright…” Sansa managed.

“Could have… internal injuries!”

Sansa shrieked with laughter. “Ruptured kidney!”

“Herniated spleen!” hooted Brienne.

“Excuse me,” said Jaime, from much closer this time, and Brienne sucked in a breath while slumping back against the wall to gaze blearily around them, carefully avoiding eye contact with him. He and the other women had joined Pod in a ring around them to stare, with various others approaching somewhat cautiously. “But what the hell are you two laughing about like that?”

Sansa dropped her head to Brienne’s knee and just concentrated on steadying her breath. In the space between Jaime and Pod, Brienne spotted Sandor trying to slink past the group to get to the bunkhouse on the far side of the corral. He slanted an uncomfortable glance their way. Brienne decided to give him a friendly wave and a smile.

“Nice one!” she called to him.

Everyone turned to see who she was addressing. Sandor’s face, usually so impassive because of the scars, as well as his stoic nature, shifted to an expression of extreme discomfort, and he darted away with a speed surprising for a man of his _size_.

Sansa was back to laughing, so hard she was almost as purple as Brienne. “Stop,” she begged, air whistling in her lungs. “You have to stop. My sides are killing me.”

Brienne didn’t reply, because she _couldn’t_. She was laughing again, too.

“Ah, Brienne, I love you,” Sansa managed at last, drooping over Brienne’s knees again.

“I—” Brienne hiccuped “— love you, too.” She patted Sansa’s head soothingly, as one might an overexcited hound.

Apparently watching two women laugh themselves to death was boring, because one by one, their audience wandered away. Jaime was the last to leave, and kept tossing them suspicious glances over his shoulder as he returned to the corral for Jeyne’s lesson. Brienne was unable to resist indulging herself with a lengthy ogling of his ass as he walked away.

“You won’t tell Arya, will you?” Sansa whispered once they were alone, eyes darting around worriedly. “She’ll never let me live it down.”

“Why hide it?” Brienne asked airily, though she didn’t really mean it; she herself would have paid every cent she owned to keep mum any pornish interludes discovered by a non-involved party. Again, the pesky vision of Jaime, gorgeous and hard and ready, filled her mind and she found herself coughing on a spit bubble. “Own it. Wear it with pride. ‘I survived a monster dong!’ You can get it printed on a button. Or a sash.”

Sansa’s shoulders began to shake but she was too exhausted to do much more than giggle. Brienne, too.

“What’s so funny, Briemme?” piped a little voice, and she rolled her head to the side to find the twins standing there, having just evaded their captor— it was likely Genna’s turn with them, this time of the day— and they had probably been drawn away by the sound of hysterical laughter.

Myrcy reached up her arms in the universal _pick me up_ gesture, and Brienne settled her on one knee, already reaching for Tommen, whose arms were up as well. She popped him on her other knee and gave them a cuddle.

“Grownups are just silly,” she told them, resting her cheek on Tommen’s golden curls. “We don’t make a lot of sense, sometimes.”

 _No, we don’t make much sense at all._ There was no explanation for the persistence of her attraction to Jaime, for example, his godlike looks aside. She gazed out over the expanse of land stretching before them and saw him watching them as he remounted his horse, brow furrowed as if he were trying his damnedest to figure her out.

 _When you do, tell me what you’ve learned._ She didn’t feel like she knew herself very well at all, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to the world's most thorough beta, Mikki (ikkiM here on AO3, whose work you really ought to be reading if you aren't already).


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone seems to have enjoyed the last chapter, which I'm thrilled about :) Hope you like this one, thought it's not so much with the LOLZ as it is with... well, other stuff. You'll see.

.

~*~

.

Jaime would have paid every cent he had— and being a Lannister, he had a lot of cents—  to know what had Brienne and Sansa in hysterics, and why _Sandor_ — for the first time in the fifteen years Jaime had known him— was acting bashful, not only with Sansa, but with Brienne as well. But none of the three of them were talking, much to the irritation of everyone else, who were dying of curiosity.

There was a story there, and Jaime wanted to know what it was. Especially as it pertained to Brienne. He was aware that Sandor had the hots for the redhead, but hadn’t noticed anything of an intimate nature happening between him and Brienne. Which was all to the good, because the idea of her hooking up with Sandor made Jaime unhappy. Very, very unhappy.

He tried mightily to convince himself it was because romancing two women— close friends, at that— at the same time was dangerous. Why, one of the ladies could end up hurt or angry, and he wasn’t sure which would be worse. He quickly gave up on that altruistic notion, though. After Cersei died, he’d vowed never to delude himself again. His worry about Sandor had nothing to do with preserving the women’s friendship and everything to do with how he wanted to aim a stampeding herd of cattle in the man’s direction at the idea of Brienne taking up with him.

Or anyone else.

Anyone else besides Jaime, that was.

_Dammit_.

And she was avoiding him again. He’d thought they’d established a détente, but Brienne had spent the previous day either avoiding meeting his eyes or his entire person altogether, and it was really starting to get on his nerves.

_I didn’t even_ _do_ _anything this time!_ he thought defensively, but even in his head, it sounded whiny. She had every right to avoid him if she liked; she was under no obligation whatsoever to interact with him. So why did it bother him so much? Why did it make him crave her company all the more? He missed looking into her eyes, he missed how her face would pinken when he grinned at her. Hell, he even missed how she scowled at him, though he’d rather see one of her bright smiles aimed at him instead. And if he could see her do that bar of soap song once again, he’d count his life complete.

Extra points if she did it nude. The idea made him hum in pleasure.

The growing compulsion he felt reminded him of Cersei, how he had longed to be with her and how, perversely, he had interpreted her coldness and reluctance to spend time with him as evidence of her devotion. He’d thought Cersei was just playing hard-to-get, had been ensuring his interest, had been tempting his masculine urge to chase and pursue. It wasn’t until much later that he’d realized that, yes, it had been calculated on Cersei’s part, but for her own purposes, enjoying being chased and pursued, how desirable and valuable it had made her feel. Jaime’s feelings hadn’t figured into it at all.

A sick feeling started in his stomach, as it always did at thoughts of his dead wife, and he found himself unconsciously focusing on Brienne again, more for how she wasn’t at all like Cersei in either looks or personality. That was a good thing, he decided. Perhaps that was why he was so fascinated by her? Because she was in no way the type of woman he was accustomed to, after all these years of Cersei and her brittle ilk?

Whatever it was, it worked a treat, because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Each time he saw her, another little jigsaw piece that was the puzzle of Brienne fell into place. Seeing her so light and happy, laughing uproariously with Sansa— seeing her easy affection with the other woman— showed him that she was loving and big-hearted, and that she could have fun and not take herself too seriously.

Though after the bar of soap routine, that had not been in question. Jaime pictured her pretending to rub soap over her firm, well-shaped ass with a look of abject humiliation on her face and had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. The grin faded, though, when his mind jogged right back around to ‘but she hates me.’

He had to put an end to this unwieldy fixation he had on Brienne. They were on day five of the women’s stay, with two more to go. He could last until it was over. And then he and the twins would go back to King’s Landing and continue to live their lives without the giant angry writer who had taken up residence in Jaime’s brain.

And what better way, he reasoned, than to distract himself with someone else? After the silliness of before, and residual giggling during lunch, no one seemed inclined to practice roping or riding any more that day, so everyone slouched off to entertain themselves as they might.

Jaime noted that Brienne took her laptop, announced her intention to get some writing done, and disappeared.

He didn’t pay a lick of attention to what anyone else chose to do, however.

(He was a sad, sad man.)

He was just gearing up to spend some time with Tommen and Myrcy, giving poor Aunt Genna a few hours off, when Arianne sauntered up and asked if he’d like to go for a walk with her.

“There’s a nice shady area on that hill over there,” she said, giving him lingering eye contact that left in no doubt what her intentions were.

_Why the hell not?_ Jaime thought rebelliously. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and Arianne clearly wanted him, just as Brienne clearly did not.

Or, at the very least, would not be indulging in whatever impulses he might inspire in her. His ego liked that spin much better.

“Sure,” he said. “Let me just check that Tysha is okay with watching the twins for an hour.”

“Better make it two,” Arianne purred. “Don’t want to rush… walking.”

Walking. _Right_. Tysha confirmed she was fine with the children for an hour— or two— and then he and Arianne were strolling out past the barn toward the little copse of trees on the hill.

Arianne was not a woman who believed in wasting time. As soon as they reached the trees, she pressed him against one and began kissing him, and for the second time in as many days, he found himself with an armful of fragrant, deliciously-curved woman. She knew a thing or two about kissing, that was sure, and in spite of himself, felt his cock twitch in response to the soft breasts rubbing against his chest and the skillful tongue caressing his.

Though that might have been because he was kind of, maybe, just a little bit imagining it were Brienne instead.

“I love outdoor sex,” Arianne murmured in his ear, and then lightly bit the lobe before licking across his throat to the other side.

Jaime’s conscience was a tricky thing. As a Lannister, it was somewhat of a miracle that he had one at all. And what it chose to assert itself over was highly subjective, usually just things he would have hated to happen to him personally.

So, when he acknowledged that he was about to blatantly use Arianne as a substitute for the persistent unresolved horniness Brienne stirred in him, and he realized how furious he would have been were he the substitute for someone— Brienne, perhaps?— to fuck instead of whom she truly wanted, well…

“I don’t,” he said, and began to extract himself from their clinch. At her startled look, he continued, “Too risky.”

“But that’s the fun of it,” she said with a charming pout, and insinuated herself into his arms once more, laving the hollow of his throat with her tongue. “Chancing someone seeing us… feeling the sun and wind on our skin…”

“Being seen by my brother or my babies… getting a sunburned ass… risking a bee sting or snake bite to the balls…” He took her arms and gently set her back.

She stared at him, clearly perplexed to be thwarted. “I didn’t take you for a pessimist.”

“A realist.” He peered up at the clear blue sky. “Think we’ll get rain?”

There wasn’t a cloud to be seen. Arianne gazed at him in disbelief, and he knew she was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. She wasn’t alone in that; he, too, was wondering the very same thing.

“Go on back, now,” he told her, exaggerating a western accent just the slightest bit. “I need a moment or two.” He waved a rueful hand toward his groin to indicate that he needed a while to soften up again, more to convince her it was misgivings about the location more than lack of desire that was keeping him from accepting what she was offering.

That brought the smile back to her face. With a smirk, and a last lingering look at his crotch, she departed, and Jaime was positive she was swinging her shapely hips more than usual, to make sure he was aware of what he had missed out on for the second time. He blew out a sigh and stared down at where his semi-erection was uncomfortably restrained in his snug jeans.

“Well, thank the gods that’s over,” said a dry voice. Brienne’s dry voice, to be specific, and Jaime whirled around to locate her, but saw nothing.

“Where are you?” He began to look around all the trees. On the other side of the copse, facing the western prairie, sat Brienne. As he approached, she continued to stare out toward where the old ghost town of Castamere was crumbling into ruins between the ranch and the mountains in the distance.

Irritation rose in him, for a variety of reasons: that she’d been there, listening the whole time; that she hadn’t said anything earlier; that she was the reason he wasn’t getting his rocks off at that very moment because he couldn’t stop thinking about her to the exclusion of all other women; that he wasn’t getting his rocks off with _her_.

“Sorry we had to cut things short,” he therefore snapped, unwisely. “Hope we entertained you.”

She slid her laptop into the messenger bag and stood, facing him. It was odd to look right in a woman’s eye, especially when said woman was calmly, unhurriedly bestowing upon Jaime the least impressed look he’d ever received.

“Getting seen by your brother?” Her voice was derisive, mocking. “Sunburned ass? _Think we’ll get rain?_ ” She shook her head. “You were bored as hell. Don’t try to pin that on _me_. Not my fault.”

_But it_ _is_ _. It’s all because of you_. He could hardly say that with her scowling at him in such contempt, however, so he settled for just glaring as she moseyed down the hill toward the ghost town.

At the bottom of the hill, she stopped and turned back to him. “What, no warning about getting a bee sting on my balls?”

Jaime’s blood pressure went from ‘irritated’ to ‘pissed off’ in the space of a heartbeat. “Fuck you.”

Brienne laughed at him. “If you were looking for sex, you should have taken it where it was offered. Not likely to get that chance again any time soon.”

Well, that made it perfectly clear. Whatever Jaime’s ill-fated yearnings in her direction, Brienne wanted nothing to do with him in any capacity. He tried telling his cock that, but it had gone from ‘mildly interested’ with Arianne to ‘achingly erect’ in response to the tension between he and Brienne, and wasn’t listening. He just stood there, fulminating in anger and thwarted desire, as she ran one last, leisurely glance over him— lingering in the area of his crotch, because of _course_ she’d notice his hard-on— before leaving him there.

And damned if her not-shapely hips, which didn’t swing in the slightest, weren’t twice as alluring as Arianne’s. Jaime felt himself swell further, and slumped back against the tree trunk with a groan.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little on the short side, but I'm confident that the next one will more than make up for it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for commenting, I'm very glad you're enjoying it!

.

~*~

.

Did Brienne think she was in hell before? Ah, what a fool she’d been. No, _now_ she was in hell, ten feet away from where Cowboy Lannister and Arianne were making all sorts of little moaning and humming sounds while kissing the daylights out of each other. Brienne’s treacherous brain, of course, was picturing herself in Arianne’s place instead of directing her to make her presence known or moving her limbs to stand up and walk away.

She could imagine every delicious moment of it: Jaime’s arms around her, the spicy male scent of him rising around them and his sleek tongue in her mouth while his hard cock thrust against her thigh. So vivid was the mental picture that she could almost feel the golden silk of his hair sliding between her fingers, and the heat of his skin against her palms.

There was no way she could endure listening to them fuck; just hearing them make out was torture. Her hands, still poised over the laptop’s keyboard, trembled every time one of them made a sound, and lust was a tightening coil in her chest as she grew more aroused— and more irate— by the second.

Damn him for those hot-eyed stares over the past few days, giving her reason to hope he actually meant something by them. And damn her for hoping. She should have known better. She should have _known_.

Numbness encroached on the desire, turning her fingertips icy in spite of the dry heat shimmering in the Westerlands air, and she powered the laptop off and closed it, staring blankly out over the vacant prairie. There were some dilapidated buildings out toward the mountains. It wasn’t even a far walk, maybe take her a half-hour to get there. As soon as she extracted herself from the awkward situation of being their unwitting audience, she would go.

“I love outdoor sex,” Arianne said in her dulcet voice. No strident tones for her, not like Brienne, who tended to sound like she was calling soldiers to battle every time she spoke. _Aux armes, citoyens!_ she thought, a trifle hysterically.

 _Oh, gods, please, no,_ she thought. _Have I not had enough of witnessing other people_ _’s sexual encounters?_ And it would be all the worse to have to sit here and endure it, because it was _Jaime_ , who she wanted so much; Jaime, who seemed perfectly fine romancing whichever woman was easiest, it seemed. Was it at all possible for her to leave without alerting them to her presence? She looked around for escape routes but all she saw was dry grass that would crunch noisily when she walked over it, and nothing around the hill for miles-- she’d be easily and clearly seen.

But then Jaime shocked the hell out of Brienne, because he refused Arianne. He _refused_ her, and with the lamest excuses Brienne had ever heard. Was he talking about the weather now? Seriously? Then he was shooing Arianne off, in much the tone she'd heard him use with Myrcy and Tommen, telling them to get in bed. Only it was clear that Jaime didn't want Arianne in bed. _At all_. Brienne’s breath started coming funny and she concentrated on evening it out so she wasn’t gasping.

Brienne heard footsteps rustling through the tall grass, and then all was quiet… until she heard Jaime’s dejected sigh.

And then her temper got the best of her. He’d practically run Arianne off, and now he was sounding disappointed?

“Well, thank god that’s over,” she quipped acidly, and waited for him to come to her, as she knew he would.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

She heard him wander through the trees until he found her. When she glanced in his direction, she could tell he was still at least half-hard, if the way the zipper of his jeans seemed to strain against the bounty housed behind it. She stifled a groan and the impulse to reach out for it, to curve her grip around it, stroke it, feel it harden more, even if it were the product of another woman’s stimulation.

Rather, she steadfastly kept surveying the vista before her, envious of the serenity of the swaying grasses and gentle breeze and oh, look! An honest-to-gods tumbleweed. Quaint!

Apparently her ignoring him made him cranky. “Sorry we had to cut things short,” he snarled. “Hope we entertained you.”

Brienne knew from experience that his eyes would be dark with anger, and his chest would be heaving as he took in deep breaths to fuel the argument they were sure to have. But she didn’t want to argue. She wanted to fuck him until their last remaining brain cells waved tiny white flags and surrendered.

She stowed her laptop in her bag and got to her feet. She wasn’t sure where this pretense at calm was coming from, but she was damned impressed with herself for managing it.

“Getting seen by your brother?” Did he honestly think _any_ one had been fooled by his excuse? “Sunburned ass? _Think we_ _’ll get rain?_ ” She shook her head. “You were bored as hell. Don’t try to pin that on me. Not my fault.”

His glower could have curdled milk. Brienne felt mere seconds from doing something rash, like launching herself at him and saying she was willing to pick up where Arianne had left off. Instead, she gathered her remaining shreds of self-control and began walking down the hill toward the ghost town. He didn’t move a muscle, but she knew he was watching her go. Feeling impish, wanting to goad him, perhaps hoping for a reaction— could she get him to break? Would he come after her to continue arguing? Or… something else?— she turned back to him for one last smart-ass comment.

“What, no warning about getting a bee sting on my balls?”

He seemed to shake with rage. “Fuck you.”

 _Oh, if only you would._ She laughed at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. “If you were looking for sex, you should have taken it where it was offered. Not likely to get that chance again any time soon.”

She couldn’t resist staring at his groin, her mouth actually watering. Somehow, somewhere, she found the strength to leave, her breath coming shallow and fast, hoping— hoping— but no. He did not follow her, so she spent the time walking to the ghost town trying to convince herself it was for the best. That having sex with him would be a disaster of the highest order: it would make things weird between them, and there were two more days to go— how could they possibly deal with each other, after that?

 _Could spend those two days fucking,_ her libido suggested. _Could try out all those weird sex moves you_ _’ve heard of over the years. What’s that Butter Churn position about, anyway?_

No, it was far more likely that they’d perish of excruciating awkwardness— or at least she would— and her friends would find her desiccated mummy days after the fact.

It was better this way.

Brienne walked and walked and walked. It took her about forty minutes to reach the ghost town. Most of it had collapsed, but a few of the buildings— the jail, Royce’s Mercantile and the Seaworth Livery, according to the faded signs still hanging in place, lopsided— had managed to remain standing. The Westerling Feed & Grain place, which just looked like a regular barn, looked sturdy enough for her to explore, so in she went, kicking some weight-bearing posts and supports to test their condition.

Finding them up to par, she carefully ascended the rickety ladder to the loft. Any hay that might once have been there was long gone, but it was a shady place and she was almost certain she wouldn’t fall through, plus it was tall enough to give her an excellent view for miles around.

She took her laptop back out and booted it up, checking the power supply: one more hour in the battery, plus she had a spare power pack that would give her two more after that. She’d work until both were expended, and then head back to the lodge. Maybe she’d make it in time for dinner, maybe she wouldn’t. She had brought an apple and a bottle of water with her so she’d be fine either way.

Brienne finished filling in her outline for Prime Cut, where everyone would have a hand in killing off the obnoxious, handsome cowboy, and once it was done, she felt… purged. Like she’d gotten it— Jaime— out of her system somehow.

But no, that was a lie. All she’d gotten out of her system was her denial of the situation. Brienne fished the apple from her bag and bit deeply, chewing while she pondered.

Here was the truth: she _wanted_ Jaime, in spite of his myriad personality flaws. In addition to his stunning good looks, there was enough about him— his humor, his charm, his intelligence, his clear adoration for his children and brother— to counter all the negatives of stubbornness, hot temper, and inability to take responsibility for his own mistakes.

She wanted him, and she would never have him, and— and that was okay. It was fine. She could accept it, and tolerate it, and move on. Two more days, that was all, and then she would go back to her life and live it. She was going to live the fuck out of it. She was going to find a boyfriend, someone who actually did like and respect and want her. Sure, she was ugly, but there had to be someone out there who wouldn’t mind _too_ much, right?

She had other things going for her. The odds were good that, among the 2.5 billion straight adult male humans on the planet, one of them would be able to appreciate her in spite of her ungainly, homely appearance. She was done hiding away. She was done apologizing for herself. And she was done with passing up on possibilities as they presented themselves. When the next opportunity knocked on her door, she was going to answer it.

…perhaps after she figured out why Jaime was there, riding toward her on one horse while leading Glory by the reins. Or more particularly, why he took one look at her, sitting sideways in the loft door, and flung himself off his horse to run into the barn like a crazy person, an expression of terror etched on his handsome features.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL HERE WE GO

.

~*~

.

Brienne hadn’t returned by dinner, and when it was over, and Sansa’s pretty face was creased with anxiety, Sandor volunteered to go look for her.

Jaime heaved a sigh. “I’ll go,” he said. “I have an idea where she is.”

He ignored the looks on the others’ faces, from Tyrion’s and Arya’s suspicion to Sansa’s and Jeyne’s relief to Arianne’s sudden understanding, as if she’d just come to some dawning conclusion.

“Tyrion, Tysha, can you give the twins get their bath and get them into bed?” At his brother’s nod, Jaime added, “And make sure you do the bar of soap thing afterward, or they’ll be upset.”

“Huh?” said Tyrion, but Sansa smiled mischievously.

“I know it, I’ll teach you,” she promised, and Jaime was grinning as he walked out of the lodge and toward the stables, wishing he could be there to witness Tyrion pretending to soap up his ass for Myrcy and Tommen.

_Get that on video,_ he texted to Tysha, and then saddled up his usual horse, the blood bay Honor, as well as Glory, the gray that Brienne seemed to favor.

It only took twenty minutes to reach the ghost town, and at first everything was so quiet and still he thought maybe he was wrong and Brienne hadn’t gone there after their argument. But motion up at roof level caught his eye, and he saw her sitting in the open loft door, one long leg swinging carelessly in the air. When she saw him there, she jerked in surprise, and for a moment it looked like her seat was unsecure, like she could fall, like--

Jaime wasn’t exactly sure what he was thinking, or if he were thinking at all. He saw Brienne there, perched so precariously on the edge of nothing, and then Cersei was superimposed over her, and she fell and fell and there was a spreading pool of blood and Cersei was a broken doll in the middle of it and then she was Brienne and her pale hair was slowly turning crimson and then he was running.

He sprinted toward the barn, momentarily blind at the sudden change from sunlight to dimness, and climbed the ladder in record time. A distant part of his mind registered the surprise and confusion on Brienne’s face just before he bolted across the loft to her, but then he was grabbing her and yanking her back from the edge.

He miscalculated, in his panic, and she fell toward him with such force that they both fell, him backward and her on top of him, the apple flying from her hand to roll, forgotten, into a dusty corner.

“Jaime, what the fuck is wrong with you—” she demanded hotly, going up on hands and knees over him. Her long thighs were braced to either side of his hips, and he could see right down her shirt— no bra, he’d suspected she didn’t wear one, was so damned pleased he was right— to the small white breasts and outhrust pink nipples it hid. And her eyes— oh, those eyes, those amazing eyes— were glaring down at him, shining sapphire even in the gloom of the loft, and Jaime was suddenly, shockingly hard. He clamped his hands on her hips, making her squeak and her eyes widen almost comically large.

“Jaime—” she said again, but he jerked her down to him and whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips. Even covered in denim, she was impossibly soft between her legs, and she felt like heaven against his cock. She was utterly still above him, staring down, her gaze unreadable.

He felt like an idiot; she hated him, and with good reason. He’d been an asshole to her from the literal moment they had met, and now he was acting like a crazy person with the running around and grabbing her. He was about to lift her off of him, to grovel out an apology and try to explain the sheer terror he’d felt to see her in the loft door, when she seemed to come to some decision and lowered herself to lay on him.

“Br—” he began, but she lowered her face to his neck and licked his throat, and any semblance of self-control Jaime had vanished.

He palmed the back of her head and redirected her lips onto his, and found her mouth already open and eager for his kiss. She tasted like tart fruit and he groaned, rocking his hips against her harder as their tongues twined and slid. The heat pouring from between her legs was unbelievable and the idea of having that scorching, wet flesh around him had Jaime moaning helplessly into her mouth.

Brienne’s hands were in his hair, sifting through the strands and tugging and Jaime was so hard he _burned_. She wrenched her lips from his to stare down again, and he nearly whined in protest.

“What are we doing?” she whispered, but he had no answer.

“Come back,” was all he said, and almost whimpered in relief when she did, bestowing upon him a deep, voluptuous kiss that made his head spin. A ticklish sensation at his waist distracted him from the exquisite velvet friction of their tongues until he realized she was trying to open their jeans, an action he supported with his entire being.

He had no patience for things like zippers, just tucked his thumbs under the waistband of Brienne’s jeans and panties, pulling until they slid down her hips and left her ass bare, that marvelous peach of an ass that his mind had fallen compulsively into thinking about, the last few days, like an addiction one wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. He gave it a good hard squeeze, and then another.

She squirmed on top of him, making him pant harder at every grind and slide of her breasts on his chest and her pussy against his cock, even the fabric between them not much of an obstacle to the pleasure racing through him at the contact. He realized she was trying to get a boot off. When it thudded to the rough planks beneath them, he helped her extract a leg from her jeans, and shove them aside, and then she was bare against him.

Jaime rolled them so he was on top, rearing back onto his knees to tear at his own jeans while gazing down at her, incredulous. She was glorious, spread out before him like that, flaxen hair a halo around her face and kiss-bitten lips dark red. Her shirt was rucked up to reveal a stretch of pale, freckled belly flowing into the slight curve of waist and hips, and her legs were parted around him. His breath came harder to see the blonde patch and hint of rosy flesh at their juncture, the hot, fresh scent of her arousal drifting up to intoxicate him.

He wanted her, wanted his cock in her, but there was no way he could bypass the opportunity for a taste. He dove down, hands under her knees to lift and open her to his mouth. She had the prettiest cunt he’d ever seen, a demure pink with flushed little labia parting sweetly as she opened for him. She was so turned on that her clit jutted urgently from under its hood, and pearly fluid welled from her soft, silken entrance to drench her entire slit.

Jaime buried his mouth against her, lapping her up, and she jolted and gasped his name. The swollen bud of her center was hard between his lips, pulsing insistently. When he plunged his tongue inside, she mewled and bucked, dislodging him. He felt disgruntled at that, not nearly sated for the flavor of her, but then Brienne fisted her hands in his hair and dragged him up her body.

“Fuck me,” she commanded breathlessly.

He’d somehow forgotten about his cock while he was licking her pussy but now, at her reminder, it reasserted its existence with a vengeance, throbbing like its own heartbeat. He paused over a moment’s wonder if she could take him easily enough yet, as he was built large and other lovers had needed more time.

“Jaime,” she said, both demanding and desperate at the same time , “you have to fuck me _now_.”

“Oh, gods, _yes._ ” He was abjectly thankful she was ready. He positioned the head of his cock at her entrance and hissed at the sensation of wet heat before sliding forward, sinking it deep. Brienne cried out, back arching up in a graceful bridge.

Jaime froze, his mind a baffled tangle of impulses and thoughts. Lust shut down his usual contemplations of how to make it good for his partner, how to draw out her pleasure, choosing which position would be best, what speed to go. He’d never been this aroused before and felt almost like a beast, just wanting to rut into her forever. He fell forward onto his hands and began to thrust mindlessly, nearly dazed by the way her cunt gripped him each time he drove in.

She unbuttoned first her own shirt, ghosting her fingertips over her nipples, and then opened his and trailed questing hands over him from shoulder to belly. It was ticklish, but instead of distracting Jaime it only added another layer of sensation to the coursing waves crashing over him. He went to his elbows without a break in rhythm and lowered his mouth to one of the coral buds swaying so temptingly nearby.

Brienne shouted in response to the suction and her hands went to his hair once again, her insistent tugs and soft cries acting like additional caresses to his cock and pushing Jaime nearer to climax.

_Please be close,_ he thought, a tad desperately, because his orgasm was fast approaching and if he were any judge, it was going to be an absolute detonation. His shoulders bunched and he strained to hold himself over her as all strength diverted to his hips, pistoning between her thighs.

Brienne wrapped her arms and legs around him, palms flat on his back and heels digging into his ass, and he gave up any pretense of finesse, of anything but fucking, letting his weight fall onto her. He slid his arms under her, one beneath her back to grasp the opposite shoulder, the other under her waist to grab her hip. She was as wound up in him as he was in her and he buried his face against her throat, inhaling the tang of her sweat, and thrust helplessly into her.

Jaime had long since abandoned trying to form any sort of coherent thoughts. There were no words for this. It was raw, almost brutal, how strongly his desire for Brienne gripped him. Her smart mouth and shy smiles and forget-me-not eyes full of sympathy, her incredible ass and long legs and pretty little tits and _oh, gods_ , the finest pussy to ever be wrapped around a cock and—

“Oh yesss Jaime fuck me Jaime come in me _Jaime_ —”

Brienne bucked against him, writhing, clamping and clenching, her words— his name moaned, _sobbed_ — twisting through him and wringing the climax from his body. He writhed, too, ground against her, roared, and it felt like he was pouring the very marrow of his bones into her.

When it was finally over, they trembled in each others’ arms for long moments without speaking. Jaime caressed her throat and cheek with his lips, feeling no inclination toward untangling himself from her, just inhaled her dizzying scent and relished the warm clasp of her thighs around his hips as his pulse slowed from its frantic pace. He’d known it would be like that, from the first time he’d realized she was turning him on as Arianne _wasn’t_. It had been even better, in fact.

_This one._

The sensation of softening inside her was an interesting experience, one he’d not had before, since Cersei had always heaved him off of her as soon as they were done, and none of his very few other lovers had cared to spend the time enjoying the afterglow. There was something even more intimate in this than in the sex itself, he realized with some surprise.

Brienne swept her hands over his sweat-damp back in a swirling pattern and sent goosebumps erupting over his skin, then gave a low-pitched laugh in his ear that had excitement sparking in his veins once more

“So,” she murmured after another languid moment, “is now the time to ask why you freaked out, yanked me onto the floor, and—”

She stopped, so Jaime peeled his face from where he’d buried it against her neck and reared back, just a little, to look at her.

“And fucked you?” he finished for her, loving the way her pupils expanded, swallowing the beautiful iris until all that remained was a thin cerulean ring. She clenched around his still-buried cock and he felt another jolt of the spine-tingling desire she aroused so effortlessly in him.

“And fucked me,” she agreed, her voice husky. “What’s up with that?”

“You tell me,” he countered. That had been beyond any comprehension he might have thought sex could be. “You’ve been pretty clear not once, but twice, that you would never do this with me, but…”

“Changed my mind,” Brienne said airily. “A woman’s prerogative. You know how it is.”

Jaime couldn’t keep from laughing; this Brienne, light and sated and relaxed, was so different from the tense and grouchy Brienne he’d become accustomed— and attracted— to. He’d never put much store in the old ‘needs to get laid’ thing but perhaps Brienne really did need a steady supply of orgasms to keep from becoming too cranky.

Well, he was just the man to provide them, if so. He was willing to make that sacrifice for the greater good. _I’m a giver_. He buried a grin against her neck and began the first of what he planned to be an artistic layout of hickies. _Selfless, that’s me,_ he thought, and swirled his tongue over her pulse.

Her chest expanded under his as Brienne drew in a sudden, shuddery breath. “Oh, that feels… Jaime…”

He groaned. “If you keep saying my name like that, I’ll never stop fucking you.”

Her eyes opened and she gazed dreamily at him. “Not exactly convincing me to stop… _Jaime_.”

“Okay, that’s it,” he said, in mock-anger. “You asked for it.”

“I did,” she agreed, languid and agreeable for once. “I really did.” Then she sobered. “But you do need to tell me what happened. That was a weird reaction to seeing me sitting up here.”

Jaime sighed and consciously tamped back on his libido. He’d known he would have to reveal his past to her eventually. Had hoped it would never come up, but… yeah. Inevitable. “Alright.”

He unwound his arms from the death-grip he had around Brienne. Cool air rushed in as he propped himself up on his hands, refreshing on his sweaty skin. Her legs uncoiled from his waist. He withdrew and she hissed at that one last stroke through her, hips undulating.

_I want her again. Already._

But while the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. At least for a half-hour or so. He might have managed a second go fifteen years ago, but now he was older, and, he hoped, better. He gave a rueful little smile and sat back on his heels, admiring the sensual picture she made, all spread out before him like that. Her nipples and lips were cherry red, and between her legs, not only was her pussy pinkened from recent strenuous activity, but a thick trickle of his semen was evident just where he wanted to bury himself yet again.

_Possibly only twenty minutes, instead of thirty_ , he thought, because he felt another, stronger tingle of arousal to know that Brienne was dripping from him coming in her only a little earlier. _Or maybe just ten minutes._ It seemed the idea got him going in a way he hadn’t heretofore realized.

But first… Cersei. He pulled his bandana from his back pocket— did he still have his jeans on? With a jolt, he realized that they were both still mostly dressed— and used it to clean her up a bit. He couldn’t have a serious discuss with her like that. Too distracting.

But she moaned at the contact, arching against it, and he toyed with the idea of making her come again, just his fingers against and inside her, wanting to see her abandon herself to pleasure once more.

But Brienne shook off the hazy languor of arousal, taking the bandana and finishing the job with quick, efficient motions. She pulled her jeans back up her leg and put her shirt to rights while he buttoned himself back into his own clothes. Once they were presentable again, they sat against the wall and, with a bracing inhalation, he began to speak.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened. Was it worth the wait?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet connection is so sketchy the last few days that I can only connect for a few minutes at a time; trying to reply to all of your kind, wonderful comments is just too difficult, esp. after the day I had at work-- oy! So please accept this blanket statement that I am so, so happy you liked the last chapter, and grateful to you all for reading it!
> 
> This chapter is about a thousand words longer than the rest, so please enjoy it with the understanding that there will be a chapter coming up in a week or so that will be about a thousand words SHORTER than the rest-- they balance out!

_._

_~*~_

_._

_What the hell just happened?_

While Brienne's body felt languid, like a pool of soft, warm, melting toffee, her brain was sharp and alert, going a thousand miles a minute. One moment, she’d been watching him bolt into the barn like a man possessed, practically tearing her from the loft door, and the next they’d been ravishing each other. He’d grabbed her, clamped her groin against his erection, then waited for her, letting her choose.

And choose she did. She had finally succumbed to the relentless hunger she’d felt for him from the very beginning, and chosen to let him pound her into the floor.

It probably wasn’t her smartest plan ever.

But, _gods_ , the way he’d looked at her, like he’d die if he didn’t have her, so intensely masculine with his wide shoulders and square jaw and stubble and that weird nose of his that somehow didn’t make him even the slightest bit less handsome. His strong sun-browned throat had beckoned to her, his scent had called to her, the need to taste his skin had been irresistible.

Oh, and then the kissing. He kissed her like doing it would save his life, and damned if she didn’t feel the same way. Once she committed to the idea, she was all in, and couldn’t get naked fast enough, feeling starved for the feel of his skin, and hollow to the core. Only Jaime had what would fill the void in her, only this irritating motor-mouth… who was a gentle, affectionate, devoted father… with an ability to maim with his words… and who, gods, was amazing to fuck…

Only Jaime. No one else would do.

_This one,_ something had sung inside the deepest part of her. Was singing at that very moment, in fact. _This is the one._

Brienne gulped and forced it out of her mind. _That way lies madness._ She propped herself up against the wall beside Jaime and waited for him to speak.

“My cousin and I were born only days apart, and looked similar enough to be twins,” he said at last, staring out at where dusk had begun to creep in, turning the distant prairie a hundred shades of blue. “Her father traveled a lot, and her mother had died young, so Cersei lived with my father and Tyrion and I, most of the time. Our mother had died young, too, so all we had was the OB— that’s what we call him, my father, the Old Bastard, and he…”

Jaime sighed.

“He’s always felt no one is really good enough for us, so all we had was we three, playmates weren’t allowed over and we certainly couldn’t leave the house. And Cersei and Tyrion loathed each other, but I loved them both, and was always caught in the middle. Tyrion doesn’t play mind games— at least, not with me— but Cersei liked nothing more than using versions of ‘if you really loved me, you would…’ to try to separate me from him, to take her side with everything. Since I wouldn’t cut out Tyrion, I had to do everything else, everything, to prove that I did love her. We got older, and with only each other to turn to once puberty set in…”  

He carefully avoided her eyes, staring down at his lap and picking at a loose thread on the thigh of his jeans. Brienne tensed, having an idea of what Jaime was about to say.

“We began having sex at fifteen, and from then until her death three years ago, she was the only woman I’d ever been with. We got married as soon as I finished school, against my father’s wishes.

“She was very beautiful. It blinded me to so much. It took me a while— too long, really, I’m not great at seeing what’s right in front of me if I don’t want to— but eventually I came to see how troubled Cersei was. Not only deeply unhappy, but with an untreated mental illness, too, I think. She wouldn’t go get evaluated or try therapy or medicine. And while she’d always been a drinker, it got worse as we got older. She depended so much on her looks, and the idea of it fading terrified her. And when she was afraid, she’d lash out, usually at me. Cersei could be cruel, cruel and cold.”

_Well, at least that_ _’s one thing I don’t have to worry about,_ Brienne thought. When you didn’t have any looks to begin with, there was no fear of losing them. She struggled for mental equilibrium as she listened to Jaime’s tale, because she wanted to slap this Cersei a few dozen times already, but the woman was dead and it was pointless.

“As her drinking got worse, I started to pull away. The… thrall she had over me began to clear off, and I started to realize that, not only did she have some huge problems, but we had almost nothing in common. Our biggest argument, after the issue of her loving wine more than me and how she wouldn’t do anything to fix it, was about children. I wanted them, but she refused to— how did she put it?— ‘destroy her figure for something like _that_ _’_.

“That’s when I knew it had to end. I couldn’t pretend we were good together, anymore. I couldn’t pretend she loved me, when it was so clear she didn’t. And I—”

Jaime stopped, and this time the glance he shot her way was shy, a little embarrassed.

“I wanted more than a loveless marriage and bad sex with an impatient drunk and not even any kids to show for it. My job’s a drag, dealing with my father is generally horrible, and then with Cersei…

Brienne was a little surprised to hear that he disliked his job; there probably wasn’t a lot of advancement or pay in cowboy-ing, but he was adept at it, and seemed happy when he was riding, roping, caring for the animals… even teaching the guests was well within his wheelhouse, with his charm and gift for gab.

“I couldn’t see anything to live for,” he murmured. “If that was all there was, did life even have a point? A reason to keep going? And one day, while waiting for the subway, I thought, _one step_. That’s all it would take, one step, and I’d fall and the train would roll over me and why not?”

Her breath caught in dismay, at the idea that Jaime would even consider taking his own life, at the mental image she couldn’t help but have of his body broken by a train, at the prospect of a world without him, and the twins, in it. _What a terrible loss it would be._ It surprised her, how strongly she felt it, and not only because of the really amazing sex.

He was still fiddling with the loose thread. She put her hand over his, stilling its rote motion. He gave her a startled glance before averting his gaze out the loft door once more, but relaxed and let her thread their fingers together, his palm warm against her own.

“It surprised me so much that I knew things had to change. For the first time, I started to feel like I… I deserved better, you know? Like I could have more if I wanted it. I just had to make it happen. So I filed for divorce, and moved out. We were separated for four or so months when Cersei insisted on meeting, said my leaving was a wake-up call and she’d been dry for a while and wanted to try again with me. I felt like I owed her at least that much.”

“At first, things were better, but it soon became clear she’d only gotten sober for as long as it took to convince me to take her back. She realized I was pulling away again, I think, because the next thing I knew, she was pregnant, and so triumphant, like she knew that I was locked in, if we shared a child. And she was right, I’d never leave her if we had a baby, so… I stayed, and did the best I could to get her to keep from drinking, and eat properly… though I’m pretty sure she drank when I wasn’t there to stop her. It’s a miracle the twins aren’t…”

His words trailed off, and he gripped her hand tighter before clearing his throat.

“So when they were born, she didn’t take any interest in them at all. Wouldn’t touch them, barely looked at them, and went right back to drinking as heavily as before. Maybe even more heavily, to blank out the fact that her body had been changed by pregnancy, and not for the better, or so she thought. I had to get a babysitter to care for them when I couldn’t. By the time the babies were a month old, she was drunk all day long, and we were doing nothing but fighting.”

“Then one day, Hildy— the babysitter— called me to say that Cersei had sent her home early. She did that, sometimes, when she felt I wasn’t paying her enough attention, knowing I wouldn’t leave her alone with the babies, that I’d rush home. I was just jogging up the street when I saw people staring down at something on the ground, just outside our apartment building, and I could hear an ambulance in the distance.

“We lived on the fifth floor, and Cersei liked to sit out on the balcony and watch for me to come up the street, so she could be good and ready to start an argument the moment I walked in the door. Everyone was huddled right under our balcony, and I just— I just knew something was wrong. And I was right. It was her. She’d probably been sitting on the balcony railing, so drunk she lost her balance and fell.”

Jaime’s words were coming faster and faster.

“She had this beautiful long hair, and it was all spread out around her, and blood was seeping into it from her head, and pooling all around her. Her arms and legs were all wrong, going in the wrong directions, and her face was— and my babies were upstairs, all alone—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Brienne commanded him, but softly, and she put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him against her, put his head on her chest and basically forced some comforting on him. He was rigid at first, resisting, but she stroked her fingers through his hair and he went lax against her in the space of a moment. “I understand, Jaime. You don’t have to say any more.”

It was a long time before he spoke again. Full dark had fallen, and only the moonlight streaming in the loft door gave any illumination to the dark interior of the barn. He pulled away from her to sit upright and stare out at the ghost town in its utter stillness.

“The worst part is how glad I was,” he whispered after a while. “Because it meant that I was free, and that the twins wouldn’t have to endure her as a mother, and… even for her own sake. She’s not unhappy anymore. Every day I wake up, and remember she’s gone, and I’m so relieved.” He flashed a jaunty grin at Brienne, looking for all the world like a devil-may-care rogue on the make. “I guess that makes me an asshole.”

But she knew better by now. She knew what the joking and flirting was for, what a mask he was presenting to the world. She could hear the worry, under the words, that she’d think less of him.

“Not to me, it doesn’t,” she replied. “I’d be relieved, too.”

He blinked at her, surprised, clearly expecting her to tell him he was awful.

“She sounds monstrous,” Brienne continued, warming to her subject, “and the way she treated you is inexcusable. And ignoring her babies, and trapping you, and—”

She hadn’t realized she was clenching and unclenching her fists until Jaime’s hand came down on one, stilling its restless motion.

“You look like you want to punch her,” he murmured.

“I do,” she said fiercely. That a woman would use her own children to manipulate her husband, would put Tommen and Myrcy at risk so she could hurt Jaime, had a hot anger pulsing through her veins. “A _lot_.”

They stared at each for a long moment, wide-eyed, before Jaime grinned.

“You just— you’re so angry,” he said. “You look like you’d take on the world, right now.”

“I would,” Brienne grumbled. “I get fired up about certain things.”

“I can see that.” His grin became softer, a bit tender. “I never told anyone about that before. That I’m glad she’s gone. Not even Tyrion, though I know he’s glad, too.”

“I—” She blinked a few times, buying time so she could figure out a response. She settled for “Thank you,” because it seemed fitting, if he had given her the gift of his trust and confidence.

“So what skeletons do you have in your closet?” he asked after a moment. “If I have to spill my guts, so do you.”

Brienne scowled but said, “My only secret is that all the victims I kill in my books are people who have pissed me off in real life. The motives for murdering them are what they did to me. I couldn’t get back at them, or they were never made to regret what they’d done, so in my books… I make them pay.”

“Bloodthirsty wench!” He leaned back on his hands and gazed at her in frank admiration. But then he frowned. “Wait. Are you telling me that you were the target of a bet about taking your virginity, like in the last book?”

“Yeah.”

“And the one before that— where the murderer killed every man who broke off their engagement with her?”

“Yeah.”

“And the one before that, with the abusive septa?”

“Yeah.”

“And the one before that, where the guy only married the heiress so he could develop her ancestral estate and make a fortune?”

“Yeah.”

With each admission, her mood lowered and her humiliation increased until she began planning an escape route. Down the ladder, out of the barn, climb onto Glory and ride like hell…

“Are any of these assholes actually still alive, in real life?”

“All of them,” she said glumly, staring down at where she was knotting her fingers together in her lap. When he was silent, she glanced up at him to find a look on his face that promised retribution. Startled— Cowboy Lannister was actually angry? On _her_ behalf?— she forced a laugh. “Proof right there that karma doesn’t work. If it did, they’d all have died in a fire or something equally horrible.”

“Of course karma works.” Jaime laughed. “You just got to fuck me. Don’t tell me you haven’t been richly rewarded.”

Brienne gaped at him in amazement at his brash arrogance until she realized he was teasing her, trying to lighten the mood. She compressed her lips, trying not to smile.

“Rewarded? Maybe,” she said. “Richly? Huh. Not even close.”

Even in just the moonlight, she could see the spark of challenge in his eyes. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

_Mother, he was handsome._ And sexy. Even after the nuclear explosion that had been her earlier orgasm, she felt the tingle of desire in her belly— and lower down— start up again. She swallowed heavily. “Th— that’s right.”

And then they were gnawing each other’s faces off and he was pulling her to straddle his lap and—

“No, wait,” she gasped, detaching her lips from his. “We have to— we have to talk about this.”

“This?” His hair was in wild disarray from her hands, his mouth swollen from her kisses. “The sex?”

“Yes. What is this?”

“…it’s sex.” Jaime frowned at her in confusion. “Is it… was it not good? You don’t want to do it again?”

“It was good.” _A monumental understatement_. Brienne was still throbbing from how his sizable cock had made itself at home inside her. The memory of it had her rubbing herself against him, shameless as a cat. She shivered and forced herself to continue, “I just need to know what it _is_ before we do any more of it.” He stared at her in silence for a few moments so she kept babbling, “It’s better to know what we’re getting ourselves into. Isn’t it? So there are no misunderstandings?”

“I suppose,” he agreed, but cautiously. “So, it’s… sex…?” He filled his hands with her ass and adjusted her position until she was smack-dab on top of his erection. His eyelashes fluttered closed at the pressure and friction of her against him. “ _Good_ sex.”

“For how long?” she asked, a trifle breathless, since he was pressing right up against where she wanted him. What were the chances he might use his mouth on her again? It had been incredible, before, if far too brief. “Just while we’re here in this barn? Do we go back to the lodge and spend the rest of my stay pretending that it never happened?”

“If you can pretend it never happened, I haven’t done it well enough,” was Jaime’s response. He began plucking industriously at her shirt buttons and sighed happily when her breasts were revealed. “It’s burned into my brain forever. Fifty years from now, on cold and lonely nights, I’ll sit by the fire and remember what it felt like to push into you that first time.”

He ground up against her, and Brienne whimpered at the stimulation.

“It would be a damned shame if we wasted the opportunity for more of it when you’re here for two more days,” he murmured against her nipples, lavishing wet, licking kisses over them and up her throat.

“Damned shame,” she gasped in agreement.

“Do you really want to lose two more days of—” Jaime stopped so he could kiss her, a luscious slide of tongues and lips that had Brienne rubbing herself against his hard cock, sliding back and forth insistently. He gave a heartfelt groan, sounding like he was being murdered. “—nghh, of this?”

“No,” she agreed on a moan. “Every second should count.”

“Glad you agree.” His hands had been busy at their waists, wrestling their zippers down. Jaime set about disrobing both of them in haste. When they were finally nude, he surprised her by rolling to his back.

“Ride me,” he urged, his voice dark, soft, and they maneuvered into position as smoothly as if it had been choreographed. “I’ve been imagining it—” Jaime cut himself off when she slid down onto his cock, his words fading to a deep groan.

Brienne could scarcely breathe, the thick intrusion of him filling her almost past the point of comfort. Was that him throbbing so hard, or her? Impossible to tell, so closely were they melded together. To have him beneath her like that, at the mercy of whatever pace she set, made excitement race heady and thick down her limbs, making the very tips of her fingers and toes tingle.

_I_ _’m going to regret this,_ she thought, even as she began to lift and lower herself on him, even as delight began to radiate out from between her legs. _He is going to break my heart. But I can_ _’t resist him. I can’t resist this. It’s too good._

Her blood sang in her veins. Jaime’s hands came up to cover her breasts, cradling their slight weight in his palms. She knew he could feel the frantic pounding of her heart. Brienne rolled her hips harder, faster, and stared down at him, wanting to see his expression. His face had gone slack with pleasure, and his eyes glinted in the shaft of moonlight streaming in the loft door. His beauty bit at her heart.

_This one._

It sent a pang of despair through her, swiftly banished. _Not going to ruin this with wanting what cannot be. I_ _’m going to enjoy it as long as I have it._

Brienne threw back her head and let sensation take her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you all liked their post-sex chat! It was a bit of a heavy chapter, so perhaps this lighter one will help balance it a little :D
> 
> This chapter dedicated to Toodleoo, who had a shitty day last week-- it's not heaps of money, but it's all I've got.

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~*~

.

Jaime was only eager to return to the lodge because that’s where the comfortable beds were. And the huge bathtubs. He wanted to fuck Brienne in at least one of each. Every step Honor took on the way back made an uncomfortable little impact up his spine— sex on the floor, not even cushioned by carpeting, just plain hard wooden planks— reminding him that he had reached an age where the comforts of a bed were not to be disregarded lightly.

As for the bathtub sex… the idea of hot silky water surrounding them during lovemaking had been something he had always wanted to try, but Cersei would never let him do anything that might muss her hair or smear her makeup. The horror she had felt when he suggested doing it in a bath or hot tub had been palpable.

He’d suggested the tub almost as a joke, just to see Brienne’s reaction, but she had informed him with an entrancing little flush that the tub in her room was particularly spacious and comfortable. Delighted, he promptly put that on the list he was creating in his head of ‘ways and places to fuck Brienne’. It was a swiftly growing list, including not only positions but locations, and not even locations restricted to Brightroar Farm.

No, he envisioned them having sex like From Here to Eternity, on a beach while the surf pounded over them; on a bearskin rug by a roaring fire in a log cabin; crammed into a plane bathroom. On the floor of his kitchen in King’s Landing. In the elevator at Lannister Financial.

Perhaps it would save him time to simply put ‘everywhere in Westeros’ on the list. Except that didn’t include the Essosi places that could be excellent locations for it… lost in thought as he compiled a secondary list for that continent as well, he barely noticed the ride back in companionable silence until they were riding into the stables, and patted Honor on the neck in gratitude for knowing the way home well enough to not have to depend on Jaime’s distracted ass to guide them there.

Even in the low light of the stable, she looked thoroughly debauched: hair a wreck, clothing rumpled in a way even time out in the bush could not account for, whisker burn and an obvious hickey on her throat, her lips swollen and red from his kisses. He felt a fierce, visceral satisfaction in having marked her like that, for signifying his claim on her so openly. If Sandor harbored any hopes for taking up with her, rather than focusing his attentions on the fair Sansa, he’d know now that she was Jaime’s.

_Mine_ , something primal whispered to him as he curried Honor. _This one is mine._

Of course it was ridiculous. They’d known each other a grand total of five days thus far. All they had was that night, and one more after it, and then she was out of his life forever, that much she’d made sure of after their first go and before the second. It was no mystery why, really; she was a young, single woman, a successful author with her life ahead of her. What more would she want with a widowed father of two who was knocking on forty years of age?

If that was all they had, he was going to make it indelible in her mind. Something Brienne would never be able to forget. When she was old and gray and dandling grandchildren on her knee, she was going to remember what it was like to have Jaime make love to her. He grinned, well able to picture her fiery blush when the memory came back to her at a random moment.

They had approached the lodge from behind the stables, and thus their return was not evident to the others, who Jaime could see ranged around the nightly bonfire when he peeked around the stable corner.

“Thank the gods,” Brienne muttered as she hoisted her saddle off Glory’s back. “We can just pretend you found me and we came back and that’s it.”

Jaime looked at her, admiring the flex in her forearms as she slung the saddle over a sawhorse. “Why pretend? Are you ashamed?”

She looked swiftly up at him, her eyes big and startled. “Ashamed? Of what?”

“Of having sex with me. Or having sex at all. I don’t know.” The thought that she might want to hide having fucked him so as to not lower herself in her friends’ eyes did not sit well with Jaime.

She watched him carefully. “No,” she said after a moment, “not at all. If they knew, they’d probably arrange a parade. Seventy-six bloody trombones and a color guard. I just don’t want to be teased about this. They’ll make it feel like a joke, and…” She stopped. Swallowed hard. “It’s not a joke. Not to me.”

“Good,” was all he said in reply, but relief raced cool over Jaime’s skin, and muscles loosened that he hadn’t known were tight. And he remembered that one of the places on his list was on a cushy pile of hay.

“Sooooooo,” he began, sliding his arms around her from behind as she stretched to hang up the horse’s bridle. He pressed his cheek to hers, liking how her height permitted it. “Are we getting to try out your tub tonight? Or do you want to see how much more comfortable some hay is than the loft floor?”

He could feel her smile against his cheek.

“If anyone ever walked in on us, I think I would literally die,” she said. “So that’s a hard _no_ to trying out the hay.”

“The winner by default, then, is the tub.” Jaime started laying a trail of open-mouthed kisses over her throat. “You go get the water started while I check on the babies. I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”

Brienne’s head fell back onto his shoulder and she gripped the arms around her waist. She let out a little moan that had him hard as steel against her ass. _Damned impressive, three times in one night,_ if he said so himself.  She acted like a magic erection potion on him; one look, one touch, and he was ready again.

“That sounds like a plan,” she said breathlessly, pressing back against him. Brienne turned her head toward Jaime, seeking his kiss, and he gave it to her, gladly, easy humor melting into the white-hot passion that seemed to flare up between them. His hands tunneled beneath her shirt, grasped her tits, squeezing almost too roughly, and she whimpered into his mouth, sucking on his tongue hard enough to make his hips buck against her.

“Rethinking your anti-hay stance?” he growled, and she shivered against him.

“Also my pro-tub stance,” she managed to say. “I doubt we’ll be able to keep above-water. We’ll drown.”

She had a point. “Okay, new plan. I go up, check on the twins, then meet you in your room to fuck like beasts the rest of the night… in the bed.”

“Yes, please,” was her mannerly reply, making him smile against her neck where he was lavishing more kisses against her nape.

“See you there soon.” He peeled himself away and they set themselves to rights before heading out toward the bonfire a respectable distance from each other.

“Everything okay?” asked Sansa as they approached, looking worried.

Jaime had no intention of getting close enough to the light thrown by the fire to reveal the extent of his arousal, impossible to hide. He just gave everyone an all-encompassing jaunty wave, stuck to the shadows edging the area, and said, “Yep, no worries. Going to check on my kids and turn in.”

He fooled few of them. The expressions on Pod’s and Jeyne’s faces were confused but Arya and Sandor were clearly derisive, Sansa and Tysha curious, and Arianne and Tyrion showed amused comprehension. Sighing, he bounded up the stairs and let himself into the room he shared with his children.

They were conked out cold in the bottom bunk, golden curls still a little damp from their bath and clinging to their sleep-flushed faces. Myrcy, as always, had kicked the covers off both of them, so he tugged them back up over her and Tommen.

“Love you,” he whispered, then pressed a kiss to each plump cheek before straightening.

Jaime opened the door a crack, and when he heard a soft tread, then the click of a door shutting, he had to force his feet to only walk, not run, down the corridor to her. A light rap on the door and there she was, eyes bright and face pink and mouth so tempting he couldn’t help but cup the back of her neck to draw her forward for a deep, thrusting kiss.

“Get in here,” she muttered, tugging him inside by his shirt and looking warily past him for any observers. He returned the favor by pushing the door shut, spinning her around to face him, and kissing her some more.

Brienne melted against him, just as she had in the Castamere barn. _I love when she does that._ Knowing how deeply he affected her was powerfully stirring to him in return. And his own knees felt wobbly, too, so she wasn’t alone in the melting.

A tap on the door startled them both into pulling away. They stared at each other in silence, and then Brienne cleared her throat and called, “Yes?”

“I have the baby monitor,” came Tyrion’s voice. “Thought Jaime might want it.”

Jaime and Brienne stared at each other a moment longer, and then he opened the door to reveal his brother dangling the baby monitor by its lanyard from his finger.

“Thanks,” Jaime said gruffly, snatching it.

“Are you being careful?” Tyrion asked.

Jaime scowled at him. “Of course I am, I wouldn’t hurt her—” Then he realized what his brother was asking. “Oh. _Oh_.” Then, as his stomach clenched in dismay, “Oh, no.”

Tyrion tsked and held out his other hand. In it was a small box of condoms.

Jaime felt his face heat as he snatched that, too.

“ ‘Night, Brienne,” Tyrion said, projecting his voice past Jaime to where Brienne cowered in the shadows behind him.

“Good night, Tyrion,” was her faint, despairing reply. He grinned and sauntered off. Jaime hastened to shut the door and turned to face Brienne, but couldn’t take his eyes off the condoms.

“Oh,” said Brienne. He looked up to find her staring at them, too.

“Please tell me we didn’t need these,” said Jaime.

“I’m on birth control,” she replied, “and I’m clean, so if you are, too…?”

“I am,” he answered immediately. “I’ve only ever been with Cer— my— her, before, unprotected.”

“I never have.” Brienne looked disturbed. She lifted a troubled gaze to him. “How could we have forgotten something so important?”

But he knew how, and from the way her eyelids went half-mast when they met his, she did, too. Whatever was behind this insane chemistry between them, it dissolved any semblance of brain power they might have had.

_Thank the Seven we live in modern times._ A few hundred years earlier, and there would have been an excellent chance of Jaime planting a child in Brienne. When the idea made his breath come quicker, and reawakened the erection that had flagged at Tyrion’s interruption, he thought, _I am in so much trouble._

The smart thing would be to make some excuse, to get out of her room as quickly as his legs could take him. The last thing he needed was a long-distance relationship with a woman who might actually still dislike him, amazing sex between them notwithstanding.

But… his hands moved without his say-so, taking hers and bringing them up so he could kiss her palms, then place them on his face.

She pulled away, looking perturbed.

_Nope, not interested._ Not in the sweet stuff, at least. She’d been nice when he had poured out his heart to her about Cersei— kind and compassionate, even. But she wasn’t in it for tender lovemaking. She wasn’t in it for anything more than the few nights they had left.

_No matter._ Jaime had gotten over a lot of disappointments in his life. This was just one more of them.

He tugged her close again, this time less gently, putting her arms around his neck and kissing her fiercely. She responded likewise, and the world faded away, leaving nothing but them and their hunger for each other.

  



	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just realized that the previous chapter was officially the half-way point; 17 more chapters, including this one here, and we're done! I'm so so happy you're enjoying it, thank you so much for your enthusiasm!
> 
> This is the slightly-shorter chapter that the other slightly-longer chapter was in compensation for. 
> 
> See you on Friday!

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~*~

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Their last time began quietly, gradually, starting with minute pulses of Jaime’s hips between her legs, the merest nudge of his cock in the warm clasp of her body. With each slide of his tongue against hers, he shifted a little further, pressed a little harder. It took forever, a delicious, hazy forever, but by the time they came again, Jaime was pounding into her with long, deep thrusts that felt like he was stroking through the entirety of her body, like each spearing into her was a caress against her very heart.

_This one!_

Something like anguish lanced through Brienne, though she could not say why, and she cried out from the force of it. She just felt so _much_ , in that moment, body and heart and soul, and it sent her into a convulsion of pleasure that had her keening, star-blind as sensation crashed through her. Jaime gave a choked gasp and his hips stuttered in their rhythm. His hands found her face, fingers twining in her hair, not to hold her for his kiss, just to stare at her with blazing eyes as he came.

_This one, this one, this one!_

Brienne was exhausted when it was over and Jaime had slipped out of her, leaving her with a sense of loss to accompany the soreness between her legs. He curled around her, burying his face against her hair, and was asleep almost immediately. She covered his hand, at her waist, with her own, and let herself descend into slumber as well.

.

~*~

.

When she woke again, it was to see Jaime trying to slip from the room without waking her. The very first hint of dawn was visible out the bank of windows, just enough to throw the delectable swells and hollows of his musculature into gentle relief as he padded, shirtless and barefoot, out the door.

Brienne was a quivering puddle of satisfaction. Her lips stung from his kisses, she had whisker burn in the most bizarre places, and she was contemplating an ice pack for her lady-business, because it was worn _out_.

The idea made her giggle stupidly, and she buried her face in the pillow, enjoying the scent of him lingering on it. He was magnificent, truly a lion as the twins had asserted a few days ago. She hadn’t believed it then, but… yeah. She felt like a violin, and Jaime was a maestro who knew exactly which string to pluck, and how, to draw the most pleasure from her. She was still vibrating and thrumming from her last orgasm, though it had been a while ago.

Her limbs were heavy from overuse, her throat scratchy and parched from moaning and shouting his name as she came. The taste of his skin was still in her mouth, though, and on her lips, and she licked them a last time to savor it before she hauled herself from bed to use the bathroom. No strength for a proper shower like she needed, but a quick whore’s bath with a washcloth, even quicker brushing of teeth, and she was lurching back to the bed with a tall glass of cold tap water.

It was still full dark. They hadn’t gotten but an hour of sleep, once they started, and Brienne’s eyelids felt like they weighed a ton each. Her weariness was bone-deep, but so was her satisfaction. Thinking happily of what she could get up to with Jaime the next evening, she fell asleep.

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~*~

.

But it was not to be. Myrcella woke with a stomach ailment the next morning and cried if her father left her for a moment. And of course, Tommen refused to be parted from his twin. Short one ranch worker, the cattle drive they were to have had that day was canceled, replaced by a relaxed ride over the land, exploration of the ghost town, and picnic lunch. The plan for the afternoon was a trip to Ashemark’s charming main street for some shopping, then back to the ranch again for another hearty meal and bonfire on their last night before leaving for home.

While in Ashemark, Brienne rummaged apathetically through a rack of t-shirts with the idea of getting one for her father. She drifted farther from the others on purpose, tired of enduring their speculative glances and curiosity. She knew it was just a matter of time before they elected a representative, however, and was in no way surprised when Sansa approached, sidling closer like a spy meeting her Essosi counterpart for a covert exchange of classified secrets.

“Well?” she demanded impatiently, eyes darting around, wary of eavesdroppers. “How was it?”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I’m not telling you that.”

Sansa was outraged. “But you saw me with Sandor!”

“And no matter how I scour my eyeballs with bleach and a wire brush, that image will never leave me,” was Brienne’s arid response. “Besides, it’s not like you’re sharing details about your time with Sandor.”

“It was incredible,” Sansa promptly told her. “I’ve never felt anything like it. He’s…” Her eyes took on a glazed, dreamy focus. “He’s really passionate, but also… gentle? And… generous?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Brienne teased.

“I am _telling_ you!” said Sansa, grinning. “It was fantastic. But enough about me. How was Jaime? If you don’t want to give the dirty details— though I hope you _will_ , because I’ve been wondering since he picked us up at the airport— then at least tell me what it was like, in general.”

In general? Even as a writer with a huge vocabulary, Brienne couldn’t find the words to come close to describing what the experience had been like. Her face must have shifted expression or something, or maybe her eyes had glazed over, because Sansa’s face went from curious to amazed.

“ _That_ good?”

Cheeks burning, Brienne nodded dumbly. “He’s really passionate, too,” she whispered. “And… intuitive, I guess you’d call it? He knew exactly what to do, and when, and how, just as I wanted it.”

“Aaaaaand?” Sansa prodded. Brienne stared at her blankly until she rolled her eyes. “His _dick_ , Brienne, his dick! You saw Sandor’s! How does Jaime’s measure up?”

Brienne blushed harder, her ears on fire, and a twinge of desire flickered between her legs, a sensory memory of the feel of him.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, “I didn’t exactly whip out a ruler and measure it.” Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but Brienne headed her off at the pass. “It’s… he’s… a gracious plenty, alright?” she finally settled for hissing into her friend’s ear. “No complaints.”

Sansa beamed at her with every evidence of delight. “Oh, I’m so glad! You deserve this, Brienne. You deserve to have fantastic sex with the best-looking man in Westeros. Aren’t you glad I talked you into coming here, now?”

Brienne only blushed harder and tried to ignore her, studiously perusing the postcard rack and choosing a half-dozen at random.

“Sooooooooo…” Sansa persisted.

Brienne gritted her teeth. “Yessssssssss?”

“You going to be continuing while we’re still here?” Her pretty face was avid.

“That was the idea, but…” Brienne shrugged. “With Myrcy sick, who knows? He’ll be tired after taking care of a sick baby all day, and have to be there at night in case she needs him. And we’re leaving tomorrow, so…” She shrugged again, trying to mask her disappointment.

Sansa bit her lip, then forced a smile. “Well, at least you had one night of great sex, right? Right!”

“Exactly!” Brienne forced a smile of her own. “Can’t ask for more than that.”

But she knew that wasn’t true. She _could_ ask for more than that. She _wanted_ more than that. She just couldn’t have it.

Not with Jaime, at least.

She thought about her life in King’s Landing, about the echoing loneliness she felt most days. Wondered if she should call Tormund; he’d been devastated when she broke up with him and swore he’d be hers forever, that she had only to call him and they could pick up right where they left off. She didn’t love him, didn’t want him, but… she didn’t want to be by herself even more.

_I am pathetic._ Disgusted with herself, she mustered another limp smile for Sansa. “I’m ready to get back to the lodge. Got some writing I’d like to do.”

But back in her room, her lackluster mood did not improve, and back downstairs for the evening meal, she poked at her dinner with disinterest.

When it was over, and Tyrion and Tysha were clearing the table, Brienne approached them.

“I… thought I’d bring some up for Jaime,” she mumbled, looking everywhere but at them. “And the twins, or whatever Myrcy can keep down…”

“I was just putting a tray together,” said Tysha, smiling gently at her.

“Ah, right.” Brienne hadn’t even noticed. “Never mind, then, you’ve already—”

“He would be very happy if you brought it,” interrupted Tyrion. He was also smiling, but there was nothing gentle about it. More mischievous and teasing. “And I know the twins would love to spend more time with you.”

Tysha finished heaping a tray with roast pork, baked potatoes, Braavos sprouts, and apple crumble while Tyrion got soup and toast and ginger ale ready for Myrcy. Brienne carried it all upstairs but then was flummoxed by how to knock at Jaime’s room when her hands were full. She settled for kicking the door lightly and hoping it didn’t seem like Dothraki were about to invade.

When Jaime answered the door, he looked tired and bored, but his face lit up to find her there, and Brienne felt an answering smile light up her own in return.

“Hungry, cowboy?”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy you're all enjoying the story! Hope you like this chapter :) It would have been 2 short ones so I squished them together to make one long one, though the POV changes 2/3 of the way through. Hope it doesn't spoil the narrative flow too much.

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~*~

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Jaime was exhausted, bored, and irritated in equally huge amounts. This drudgery was the part of parenting no one ever shared before you had children; no one ever talked about projectile vomiting and diarrhea and snot and clinging little arms and clutching little hands and shrieking little mouths.

He would be heartily glad when Myrcy was feeling better, and fervently hoped Tommen wouldn’t sicken as well. Bad enough he wasn’t getting another night with Brienne, but he and the twins were leaving to return to King’s Landing in two days and he didn’t want to spend them mopping up another gallon of bodily effluvia.

Myrcy had just permitted Jaime to place her back in the bed— his, as she insisted she felt better in a grown-up bed than the bunk she shared with her brother— when there was a series of odd thuds on the door. He went to see what it was, and found his tall wench bearing a tray laden with food, to his abject delight.

“Hungry, cowboy?” she asked, smiling at him so sweetly that he was hard-pressed not to just shove the tray out of the way so he could pull her close and kiss her as he’d been thinking about all day.

“I don’t know if I’m happier to see you or the food,” Jaime settled for saying, and took the tray from her.

“Briemme?” shouted Tommen, barreling over as Jaime carried in the meal. “Come see Myrcy! She been frowing up all day. It’s very sad.” He tried to school his face into something appropriately tragic, but couldn’t fake it for long. “She sounds like: hurrrrrrrrk, hurrrrrrrk, hurrrrrrrrrk.”

It wasn’t a bad imitation of what Myrcy had sounded like all day. Brienne compressed her lips to keep from laughing and Tommen pulled her into the room by her hand.

“Hi, Myrcy,” she said kindly. Jaime knew what she was seeing: the little girl looked tiny in comparison to the big mattress, her hair was straggly, there were circles under her eyes, and her skin had a sickly greenish tinge. The look of compassion of Brienne’s face was clear.

“Brienne brought you some soup and toast,” Jaime told his daughter. He placed the tray on a small table, then carried the bowl and plate with him to sit on the edge of the bed by her. “Do you want to try some, baby?”

“Toast,” Myrcy croaked, and was able to get half a slice down before declaring herself full.

While Jaime attended to her, he noticed as Brienne cut up Tommen’s dinner and got him situated at the table to eat it. When Myrcy finally rested against a bank of pillows and sipped ginger ale, Jaime came to devour his own meal.

“You look tired,” Brienne told him in sympathy.

“Single parenting is no joke,” he replied with a weary sigh. He gestured with his fork to the tray. “Thank you for this.” When she nodded, he continued, “And… I’m sorry.” Jaime gave her prolonged eye contact so there was no doubt what he was apologizing for. His frustration, at missing out on another day in her company, and another night in her bed, was strong.

If the way she blushed were any indication, she too was sorry to have missed another evening of indulgent sensuality. “It’s… of course,” she stammered. “I understand. Of course.”

When they were done eating, Brienne twiddled her fingers nervously before offering, “If you want to have a shower, I’ll watch them?”

Jaime smiled in pleased gratitude. “I would _love_ a shower,” he said fervently, surprised by the offer. “Thank you. You’re—”

She cut him off before he could compliment her. “It’s nothing,” she said hurriedly, seeming uncomfortable. “Just common decency. Anyone would do the same.”

His stomach plummeted. Just her being _decent_ , was it? She was making it obvious she felt nothing for him at all. The pleasure he’d felt drained away. He didn’t want Brienne’s decency. Anything she did for him, he wanted to be because she liked him, because he mattered to her, not because she’d do it for just anyone. She was putting distance between them, lumping him in with everyone else, and it galled him greatly.

“Is that right?” he said, his tone cool, and felt a nasty little satisfaction when her face fell, then hated himself for it. “Well, I still appreciate it.” He turned to Tommen and his smile warmed. “C’mon, bud, you can have a shower with me. Save your poor old Dad from having to get wet twice tonight.”

“You’re not _that_ old, Daddy!” piped Tommen as they disappeared into the bathroom.

The shower was too-brief, too-cool, and too-messy due to Tommen’s inclusion, but it still felt fantastic after a day in a sickroom. When they emerged from the steamy room, Jaime in sweatpants and his son in pajamas, he felt like a new man. The room was a little darker than it had been before, and he saw that Brienne was sitting on the bed with Myrcy sound asleep in her arms. Brienne didn’t appear to have realized that he and Tommen had left the bathroom; she just rocked back and forth, humming quietly under her breath, cheek resting on Myrcy’s curls, the very picture of maternal domesticity.

The sweetness of it pierced Jaime right in the heart. This was all he’d ever wanted, a family to be part of, with warmth and love. After a lifetime of mistreatment by the OB and Cersei, Tyrion was only capable of the most oblique expressions of affection, and Jaime freely acknowledged that his hope of it from his father and wife had been frankly delusional. They couldn’t give what they were not capable of. He shouldn’t have expected it. It had just resulted in unhappiness for all of them.

But Brienne… she was capable of immense love, he had come to see, and such gentleness. He’d thought, over the course of the past week, of how different his life might have been if he’d met her when he was younger, before he’d married Cersei. Could she have turned his head, shown him what was possible? Could the past ten years have held more joy than misery, more pleasure than loneliness? He’d seen how loving she was with her friends. What would it be like, as the target of her affections? To bask in all that gentle warmth? Bitterness twinged in his belly for what would never be.

Little point in wondering. What was done, was done, and he’d not trade his babies for anything. The hard fact was, they wouldn’t be Tommen and Myrcy if someone else had been their mother. Whatever he’d endured with Cersei had been worth it for that alone.

“Briemme,” Tommen ‘whispered’, “is Myrcy better?” He approached, leaning against her knee, and she extracted an arm from his sister to wrap around his little body.

She smiled tenderly at Tommen. “I don’t know, but she’s sleeping and seems comfortable, so…” She looked up from him to Jaime, her eyes huge and so, so blue, the smile trembling on her lips, and the words _this one_ susurrated through Jaime’s chest.

Brienne stood, slowly and smoothly, and transferred Myrcy into the bed, carefully covering her with the blankets and brushing a tendril of hair out of the tiny girl’s eyes with a gentle finger before straightening.

“I should go,” she said, “and you should get some sleep while you can.”

Were her eyes a little wet? Her nose a bit red? The closer she got, the more Jaime was convinced she’d been crying. He studied her while rubbing a towel over his hair. “You okay?”

She gave him a watery smile. “Yep! Just tired. Lots to do tomorrow, flying back home, so… I’m going to turn in early.”

His smile in return was wistful, and he knew they were both thinking of all the sex they weren’t going to have that night. Frustrated desire thrummed through him as she cleared her throat nervously, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“It was… to meet you…” She faltered. “It wasn’t _nice_ , per se, but it was… good?”

He had to laugh. “No, not _nice_ maybe, but… good. Very good.” He watched her closely, and his smile faded. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she would be vulnerable, once they parted for good. She might be able to take care of herself, physically, but emotionally… “Take care of yourself, wench. And if anyone else ever insults you like I did, punch the hell out of them.”

Her smile returned at that. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch the hell out of _you_.”

“I know.” His grin was back.

“Daddy, bar of soap!” Tommen exclaimed, bored with watching the adults talk about things he didn’t understand.

“Hold your horses, bud,” Jaime told him. “I’ll do it after I finish saying good night to Brienne.”

Tommen toddled over to her, wrapping his arms around her knees, and looked up at her with his big green eyes. “Good night!”

Her chin gave the cutest wobble, like she was having the fight of her life to keep her expression under control. He knew how she felt. “Good night, Tommen,” she said, bending to kiss his forehead.

“So… good night,” she said to Jaime, and edged by him to leave, but he couldn’t leave it like that. This was to have been their second night together. There had to be something more to it than only words.

“Jaime?” she asked when he followed her out into the hallway and pulled the door closed after him.

“You didn’t think I’d let you go with just that, did you?”

“Wha—”

She was cut off by his mouth on hers, and for a moment he just… floated in the bliss of kissing her, the sensation of her lips and tongue, the brush of her eyelashes against his cheek, the tug at the roots of his hair by her fingers threading through it to hold him. He felt the soft welcome between her legs for his hardening cock, and groaned softly into her mouth.

All too soon, Jaime had to pull back. They were both breathing hard, their hair askew from questing hands, mouths all kiss-swollen.

“Something to remember me by,” he said hoarsely.

“As if I needed anything else,” Brienne replied, just as raspy.

He grinned and released her. The ceiling light gleamed on her flaxen hair, sparked gold stars in her magnificent eyes. One step backward, still facing her, then another, and he reached out to open his door.

“Bar of soap, Daddy!” he heard from within.

“Goodbye, Brienne,” he told her.

Her chin wobbled again. She gave him a single nod, turned, and strode down the hall to her room. Jaime watched until the door shut behind her. Then he sighed and went to coax his son to sleep.

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~*~

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While Jaime and Tommen showered, Mercy looked so tiny and ill that Brienne couldn’t help but pick her up. With a sigh, the little girl tucked her face against Brienne’s shoulder and fell asleep, and the warm weight of her in Brienne’s arms was the sweetest of burdens.

 _This_ was what she wanted, what she had always wanted: a man to love, children to love.

She could almost-- _almost_ \-- pretend that this was all hers. That Jaime was hers, that the twins were hers: hers to love and take care of, that they all belonged to each other, a little family unit together. Ashamed tears sprang to her eyes, of yearning and disappointment and a bone-deep resignation that it wasn’t going to happen for her. That all she’d ever have were little stolen moments like this one, so she’d better make it count.

She’d hurt him, before, with how she’d blown off his gratitude. She just didn’t know what else to say. The truth-- “I would do just about anything for you and your children”-- was not likely to make their inevitable separation easier or less uncomfortable. Every moment she let herself believe something more than their single day could be possible, her heart cracked open a little bit more.

 _You cannot be in love with him,_ she told herself sternly. _It_ _’s only been a week. At the most, it’s a crush, and it will fade._ He was a giant pain in the ass with nothing to recommend him except being gorgeous. And funny. And wonderful with his babies. And smart, and capable, and surprisingly sweet sometimes. An unbelievably good lover, sensitive and generous and passionate--

 _No_. Best not to think too closely about sex with Jaime. She was trying to talk herself _out_ of loving him, not _into_ it. There was no future in it, only heartbreak.

She repeated this to herself until her tears began to slow. By the time the boys had left the bathroom, Brienne had gotten herself back under control, with nary a sniffle to reveal she’d been crying, though Jaime didn’t seem convinced when she said she was fine.

And then that kiss… gods, he had only to kiss her and she went up in flames. It was almost frightening, how strongly Jaime could affect her, how much power he could have over her. The world went away when he kissed her, or rather, he became all of the world, her every sense narrowing down only to perceiving the sight and sound and taste and smell and feel of him.

It had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, resisting the urge to fling herself back in his arms, asking him to… to what? Let her spend the night chastely sitting by his daughter’s sickbed? Having sex with Jaime had given a sheen of intimacy to their dynamic but they hardly knew each other. She couldn’t insinuate herself into their lives. She didn’t belong there, no matter how she wanted to.

It was a near miss, refraining from crying again when Jaime said goodbye to her. She couldn’t manage a word, her throat too tight. Once back in her room, Brienne slumped against the closed door and heaved in a breath. They’d be leaving Brightroar Farm first thing in the morning, right after an early breakfast, so she should pack that night. She went through the motions of doing what she ought, but absently, her mind elsewhere. Down the hall, with Jaime and his children.

She went to bed. But did not fall asleep for hours.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 2-chapters-squashed-together-because-short bit. Hope you like it :)

 

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~*~

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The next morning, Tyrion went around knocking on everyone’s door in a last wake-up call, trying to get everyone downstairs for breakfast in time. Brienne had been up and nervously pecking at her laptop for the last hour so she only had to shove the computer into her messenger bag, grab her suitcase, and head out.

The hallway was full. Arya and Jeyne, though they’d expressed enjoyment of their holiday, were clearly ready to go, both hunched over their phones, texting furiously. Sandor was there, looking as sheepish as a man his size and mien could be when he followed Sansa from her room, laden with her half-dozen bags. And Jaime stepped from his room with the twins, Myrcy seeming markedly better than she had the previous day.

There were a few notable exceptions: Tysha, likely downstairs putting the finishing touches on breakfast; Pod, because he lived in the bunkhouse behind the barn, and Arianne.

Brienne felt Jaime’s gaze on her like a fiery brand. She tried to avoid returning it, but when the twins shouted her name and pelted down the hallway to her she couldn’t delay any longer. He was watching her with a blank expression, but there was something tender in his eyes that had a litany of _this one, this one, this one_ repeating in the back of her consciousness.

“Hi,” she said to all three of them, mustering a smile she hoped looked better than it felt on her stiff lips. She placed a hand on each twin’s curly golden head. “Myrcy, are you feeling well today?”

The little girl nodded. “I want breakfast! Let’s hurry up!”

“Aunt Tysha said there’d be pancakes today!” added Tommen. “They’re my favorite.”

“I thought waffles were your favorite, bud,” Jaime said, strolling up behind them.

“That was _last_ week,” the boy said, his tone impatient. “ _This_ week I like pancakes best, Daddy.”

Jaime flashed her a smile, and she had to lock her knees to keep them from liquefying. The memory of their interlude the other night, how he had felt against her, inside her, stole the breath from her lungs and she could only stare helplessly at him for a long, taut moment.

“Arianne? Ms. Martell?” Tyrion knocked on Arianne’s door a second time, then again. After the third knock, it opened and Pod stumbled out. He froze and turned scarlet upon seeing everyone staring in amazement.

Arianne leaned decoratively in the open doorway, languid and heavy-eyed, the brief silk robe she wore leaving little to the imagination. Jaime snatched up Myrcy and positioned himself so she couldn’t see the woman’s abundant charms, and Brienne followed with Tommen a moment later.

“Whatever you’re paying him, it’s not enough,” Arianne drawled.

Pod mumbled something that sounded a bit like “ohgodsI’msosorry” and scurried, shame-faced, down the stairs.

“That’s because I hired him to rope the cows, Ms. Martell, not the guests,” said Tyrion, his tone amused. “Breakfast is about to begin. You need to be on your way to the airport in an hour or you’ll miss your flight to Lannisport.”

She shrugged negligently. It made the neckline of her robe slide off one smooth caramel shoulder and reveal most of a round, full-curved breast. Brienne felt a rush of envy so pronounced it almost turned her stomach, and with the perversity of prodding a sore tooth to feel the pain over and over, she glanced around at what she was sure would be hot, desirous glances from the men assembled.

Tyrion had a salacious little grin on his face, but Sandor, after blinking once, gazed down at the scuffed toes of his boots like they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen. And Jaime—

Jaime was grinning at Brienne with a can-you-believe-this-shit expression on his face. He shook his head, as if to say, “wow, some people!” and started for the stairs.

“Time for pancakes!” he announced, and the twins cheered. Brienne followed him down at Tommen’s urging, but inwardly, she was amazed. It was just to be expected, that Sandor had eyes only for Sansa— she was easily Arianne’s match in beauty. But _Jaime_? Especially after he and Arianne had flirted like mad for most of the week? _She appears before him practically nude, and he doesn_ _’t steal a single glimpse?_

Her incredulity must have shown on her face, despite her best efforts to hide it, because Jaime leaned close while they wrestled the twins into their booster seats and murmured, “You know I’m more of a leg man than a breast man.”

“Her legs are perfect, too,” Brienne said sourly before she could stop herself, then bit her lip in a belated effort to keep the envy hidden.

He paused in the act of forking pancakes onto Tommen’s plate to look her over from head to toe. It a leisurely, insolent cataloging of her every tiny characteristic, and when his gaze met hers once more, it was hot, the pupils blown wide. Then he leaned closer so he could murmur in her ear, “Have I mentioned how much I like _your_ legs? Specifically, when they’re around me?”

She twitched and dropped— almost fell, really— into a chair on the other side of Myrcy. “What?” she whispered in horrified delight.

“I just can’t decide if I like them best around my waist or my neck,” he continued conversationally. “More data is needed.”

“Daddy, that’s too many pancakes!” said Tommen, peering up at his father in confusion. “I can’t eat _that_ many!”

Brienne tore her gaze from Jaime to his son and then started to laugh, because Jaime had put at least a dozen pancakes on the boy’s plate.

“That’s what I get for trying to dish up food when I’m distracted,” he said, laughing, and portioned the tall stack between Brienne, the twins, and himself. “Brienne, stop distracting me.”

Her face burned, and she stared down at her plate to avoid the curious stares of her friends, but she muttered, “You’re distracting yourself. I didn’t say a thing.”

Jaime only laughed again. “You don’t have to.”

Brienne was silent as she helped Myrcy pour syrup, but couldn’t help but blurt, “I’m sorry we live so far apart.”

It felt like she had shouted it, and she cringed, not wanting the others to hear her— gods, how pathetic she’d seem, pining for the man who’d been so awful to her upon their arrival— but no one else seemed to have taken note of it at all besides Jaime.

“Same,” was all he said, but there was an intensity that told her he really meant it.

Breakfast was tense and, frankly, weird. Pod was not to be seen again, but Arianne— dressed, finally— sauntered downstairs and picked at her meal with a languid ease that said “I had great sex” as loudly as if she’d exclaimed it. Brienne wondered if she’d been remotely as obvious upon her return from the ghost town, and then the morning after their night together, and prayed desperately to all seven gods that she had not, or she’d never be able to look the other women in the eye ever again.

Finally, it was time to go. Sandor was to drive them to the little airport in Ashemark. Sansa was dragging her feet as they all heaved their things into the truck bed. Arya, Jeyne, and Arianne climbed into the extended cab while Sansa clambered to sit in the middle of the front bench seat.

“Bye-bye, Briemme!” said Myrcy.

“See you again soon!” Tommen added.

They both beamed happily up at her. Brienne looked at Jaime in apprehension— didn’t they understand that this was it, that they’d never see each other again?

“I’ll explain,” he said in a low voice, looking as reluctant and, frankly, dejected as Brienne felt. It didn’t make a lot of sense to her— this was just a fling, wasn’t it? Just sex, that’s what he’d agreed in the Castamere barn. It had only been a single night. An amazing night, but just one. There was no reason for either of them to feel so miserable. Especially not Jaime, since he could have a replacement for her in under an hour if he wanted. Probably only thirty minutes, really.

“Um,” she began. “Goodb—”

He slid one arm around her waist, the other hand under the fall of hair at her neck, and pulled her into another of his deep, drugging kisses, where she felt like she was bobbing hazily through space, adrift in sensation. The surging rhythm of his tongue was mesmerizing and it was the most natural thing in the world to put her arms around him, to submit to the carnality he aroused in her so effortlessly. She felt her leg begin to creep up around his hip and it was only when a pointed cough came from around hip-level that she began to swim upward from the pool of lust into which she had sunk.

“While I’m sure the twins appreciate the biology lessons they’ve received today,” said Tyrion, “I’m thinking perhaps the-birds-and-the-bees talk should happen in another year or two, instead.”

Brienne swiveled her head to find Tysha and Sandor and the twins staring at her and Jaime, and the women already in the truck with their faces pressed to the back window, eyes wide in amazement.

She gulped. They released each other, clearing their throats. Even embarrassed, Jaime was gorgeous, with an added layer of ‘adorable’ stacked on top, and it was just too much for Brienne to bear. Eyes averted, she mumbled a last farewell and scurried around the back of the truck to stuff herself in next to Sansa.

Sandor jammed himself in on Sansa’s other side, behind the wheel, and when the engine roared to life, they drove off.

It was a silent ride, with Brienne steadfastly staring out the window in an attempt to pretend she hadn’t just reached second base with Jaime in front of everyone, including his children. Her face burned, and there was a lump in her throat, and she blinked rapidly for a minute straight to keep from crying as she wanted to.

When they reached the Ashemark landing strip, they were a little late but the pilot didn’t seem to mind, just leaned against the landing gear and smoked a cigarette as they approached.

“It’s your problem if you get to Lannisport too late to catch your flights,” he told them with a shrug.

Finally, the luggage was stowed, everyone climbed aboard, and Sansa laid one last humdinger of a kiss on her scarred paramour.

“I’ll call and text you,” she promised him with a lingering press of lips to his distorted cheek.

“Okay,” he replied, but it was clear to Brienne that he was humoring her friend and had no faith whatsoever that Sansa would keep in touch. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, knowing exactly how he felt, and indeed when their eyes caught, as he turned back to the truck, there was a kinship between them, two ugly people accustomed to being used and discarded. He nodded to her, she nodded back, and then he was in the truck and driving away.

Then she realized that Jaime had made no attempt to ask for her number, or email, so they could keep in touch in some way. Though she hadn’t, either. It was so pointless, when they lived hours and hours apart. Wasn’t it? She swallowed past the lump in her throat, refusing to embarrass herself further in front of the others.

However reluctant Brienne was to cry, Sansa shared no such inhibitions, and sniffled noisily the entire flight to Lannisport, to the point where Brienne was quite glad when they had to split up to different gates, since she was going to King’s Landing but Sansa and Arianne were going to Oldtown, and Arya and Jeyne to White Harbor and thence on a similar small plane to Winterfell.

In a flurry of hugs and kisses and reminders to call and text and email each other, they went their separate ways. Brienne fell gratefully into the solitude. She was glad Sansa had sprung for first-class seats, needing the space for her long legs, but having fewer people around was more comfortable, too: fewer people to notice as she wept, as silently as she could manage, when they lifted off and were airborne.

 _Well,_ _that_ _’s that._ An improbable, strange, and never-to-be-repeated interlude in her life, over. _I was fortunate to have had it at all_. How many other people could say that they had had a no-strings-attached whirlwind affair with a gorgeous stranger? What had been the odds that someone like Brienne— someone so lacking in physical appeal and feminine attributes— would manage such a thing? It would be something to remember for the rest of her life.

Problem was, the rest of her life now seemed to stretch out before her endlessly, because she knew it would be bereft of the passion and excitement Jaime had brought to it.

 _I was fortunate to have had it at all,_ she repeated, but it didn’t quite take the first few times.

She repeated it all the way back to King’s Landing.

But it didn’t help her feel better in the slightest.

  
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~*~

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The remainder of their stay at the ranch passed in a haze of distracted boredom, broken only by Aunt Genna’s periodic attempts to glean details about Jaime’s experiences with Brienne and if there were any future in it. The woman was like a dog with a bone and wouldn’t leave him alone until Tyrion had a few pointed words with her, and then she settled for shooting Jaime reproachful glances as often as possible. Jaime just as reproachfully ignored her.

Each day for a few hours, Jaime put the twins on a pair of fat ponies kept for any child guests and taught them to ride, and their enjoyment of it made him glad, but every moment not spent having fun with his children was passed thinking about Brienne.

He was having a lot of trouble accepting that there was no future for them. They lived so far apart... he knew that long-distance relationships were not uncommon, anymore, and Tarth wasn’t _that_ far from King’s Landing, was it? But the idea of schlepping the twins back and forth to the island on the weekends was exhausting, especially with how limited his free time was… perhaps he could persuade Brienne to come visit them in KL instead…

That was providing she even wanted to. Any time he’d tried to be affectionate or hint at something beyond the physical, she had pulled away, and he was so stupidly inexperienced with anyone but Cersei that he couldn’t tell if it were normal or if he’d alienated her in some way. Scorching chemistry with him and affection for Myrcy and Tommen aside, Brienne had been pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in anything but sex. Not much point in continuing to think about it. Or her.

 _It_ _’s over._

The day before Jaime and the twins were to depart, Bronn returned with his bride, the newly-hyphenated Margaery Tyrell-Flynn. Dinner that night was a jolly affair as they regaled everyone with the account of how they came to decide to elope, and the honeymoon they had just enjoyed, and her family’s less-than-delighted reaction.

She rolled her eyes at Jaime with a laugh. “They’re furious I didn’t manage to seduce _you_ , somehow.” They’d known each other for years and, after a single date a year after Cersei’s death, where they had learned they had little in common and no interest in each other whatsoever, had gotten on as friendly acquaintances ever since, much to their respective parents’ chagrin.

“You wouldn’t have succeeded,” said Tyrion with a sly look on his face. “His type runs to extremes— mean and beautiful, or sweet and ugly.”

“Don’t call her that,” Jaime said automatically, his voice flat. “Ever, Tyrion.”

Everyone around the table paused, even the twins, who stared at their father in surprise, unused to hearing him speak in a hostile tone.

“Don’t tell me this cu— character actually fell in love while we were gone,” said Bronn, hurriedly switching his favorite word for something more child-friendly when Tysha shot him a look. “What’s the lucky lady’s name?

“Brienne Tarth,” said Tyrion at the same time that Jaime muttered, “I didn’t fall in love.”

Margaery’s eyes popped wide in surprise. “Brienne Tarth? She’s one of our best-selling authors. Really terrific girl. Jaime, you have excellent taste, if you fell in love with Brienne!”

“I didn’t fall in love!” he repeated, starting to get angry. “We were just friends while she was here. And not even at first—”

“She _hated_ you at first,” murmured Sandor with a half-grin. “A _lot_.”

“She sure warmed up to you by the end of the week, though,” Tyrion commented. “We were all very impressed by how… enthusiastically you said goodbye to each other when she left.”

“The twins fell in love with her, too, I think,” said Pod with a fond smile at them.

“Brienne showed us blue eggs!” piped Myrcy obligingly.

“She taught Daddy the bar of soap song and now he sings and dances every night,” chimed in Tommen.

The adults all stared at Jaime, who steadfastly ignored them and attended to cutting his pork chop with all the focus of a man defusing a bomb timer. _I_ _’m never going to live this down, I know it._

Margaery blew a gusty sigh into the silence. “So let me get this straight. You ‘became friends’—” she performed the finger quotes with mocking panache “— with the nicest woman in Westeros, your children love her, and you let her go?”

“I knew her less than a week. Of that, we only got along for the last three days.” He almost slammed his silverware down on the table but was keenly aware that his children were watching him. He replaced his fork and knife gently to either side of his plate instead. “Was I supposed to rope her like a calf and hold her hostage? It was time for her to go home. She went home. And thank all the gods, tomorrow _we_ _’re_ going home.”

That seemed to put an end to the matter, but then the fiery glare he aimed around the table at everyone but his children might have done the trick, too. Jaime remained sullenly quiet for the rest of the meal, interacting only with the twins, and was so relieved when he could take them upstairs for their bath that he didn’t even mind doing the bar of soap song. Once they were asleep, he had his own shower, then pulled up his favorite of Brienne’s books, Chopping Spree, on his e-reader.

He fell asleep wondering which oblivious, bearded idiot had embarrassed her so many times that she gave him a grisly demise via chipper-shredder.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Toodleoo for being awesome.

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~*~

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Brienne was not sure dating Tormund again was her best idea ever. In fact, she was pretty sure it was one of the worst. But he had made one of his monthly phone calls begging her to go out with him again, not long after her return to King’s Landing, and in a moment of weakness— feeling lonely and unable to stop thinking about Jaime, and sex, and sex with Jaime, she’d said yes.

They’d been out a half-dozen times since then: dinner, the movies, an open-air theater performance, even the aquarium. Tormund was trying mightily to prove he wanted her for more than just sex, and had been patient with her refusal to sleep with him yet, but she could tell he was confused and frustrated and part of her hoped he’d lose patience and break up with her.

She just couldn’t bear the idea of sex with anyone else after Jaime. Not yet. Probably not for a long while.

It was September, almost five weeks since she’d left Brightroar Farm, and her time there had taken on a distant, dreamlike quality. Sometimes she wondered if any of it had really happened, only to be forcibly reminded when Sansa would phone or call to talk about her ongoing trials and tribulations in maintaining a long-distance relationship with Sandor. Sansa would inevitably ask if Brienne had heard from Jaime, or tried to contact him.

“No,” Brienne had said again, for what felt like the hundredth time, just that very morning. “The answer is still no. It’s always going to be no.”

She’d been very relieved when she had to hang up to get ready for this lunch date with Tormund. The heat of summer had finally yielded enough that lunch at a sidewalk café would be enjoyable instead of an exercise in sweaty, overheated misery. Brienne was touched in spite of herself that Tormund remembered that it was her favorite place, though he probably wanted to make his offer of lunch as attractive as possible so she’d be more favorably inclined to relent and let him have sex with her.

…it wouldn’t, but she _really_ loved the café. She’d even arrived early so she could enjoy a cup of tea in peace before he arrived and the assault on her resistance began. With another sip, she stared down at her madras skirt and wondered if her desire to look decent and be cool would be misinterpreted by him as a temptation. It wasn’t even a very short skirt, its hem just an inch or two above her knees, and she wore it with a very modest boat-necked white knit shirt with elbow-length sleeves, and flat shoes.

Brienne took another sip and sighed because, yes, Tormund would take anything as a sign she wanted to be with him. She rued putting on makeup— that would really convince him— and contemplated taking it off. Didn’t she have some wet wipes in her tote bag? She began rummaging for them and was just about to pluck a wipe from its packet when a child screamed her name.

“ _Briemme!_ ”

She couldn’t tell whether it were Tommen or Myrcy, but it was one of the twins. She dropped everything and shot to her feet, looking around wildly. Where were they? Why were they in King’s Landing?

Finally, she caught sight of them: a tall, skinny young man was standing on the other side of the street, a child yanking at each hand, trying to drag him across to her in spite of the teeming traffic between them.

“Myrcy, Tommen, don’t you dare come over here!” she shouted at them. “Stay there and cross at the corner when it’s safe! Do you hear me?”

They stopped braying her name and blinked at her, then nodded. The young man hooked fingers in the collars of their shirts with one hand and fumbled with his cell phone with the other. When the light finally turned red and they could cross safely, they ran to her side of the street and Brienne couldn’t resist leaving her table to meet them at the corner, dropping to her knees on the sidewalk, arms open to them. The young man released their shirts and they flew to her, pressing sticky kisses to her cheeks. Feeling their little arms around her neck made tears spring to her eyes, quickly blinked away.

“Briemme!” shouted Tommen. “We went on another plane, and then we came home, and saw Peck again, and I asked Daddy for a cat again but he’s still too tired!”

“Briemme!” Myrcy exclaimed. “Grandpa is mad at Daddy and keeps him at work late, late, late! We haven’t seen him in five days!”

“Two days, Myrcy,” corrected the young man as he finally arrived. He shoved his phone into his pocket and smiled in greeting. “Hi, I’m Peck.”

Brienne tried to get up but the children wouldn’t release her and she ended up standing with one in each arm. “I’m Brienne,” she replied.

“I know.” He smiled wider. “Everyone’s been talking about you since they got home from the ranch.”

She frowned in confusion. “Everyone?”

His eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “The twins and Jaime. They mention you every time they do the bar of soap song which, by the way, thank you for that.” His smirk was wry. “Now I’m singing it, too.”

She blinked at him several times. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“That’s Peck!” said Tommen helpfully, which told her nothing. They’d mentioned a Peck several times, in Westerlands, but she’d assumed he was a friend of the family or one of Genna’s children.

“Peck is our nanny.” Myrcy said in a very grown-up tone, shedding more light on the fellow’s identity.

She was still so confused. “How does a cowboy afford a nanny?” she asked, more to herself than to Peck, and set the children down on their own feet. “And why are you here instead of at the ranch?” Then another idea occurred to her. “Why weren’t you at the ranch last month?”

Peck stared at her for a long moment before rolling his lips in, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh in her face. “You know what, I’m not the best person to answer your questions,” he said cagily.

She scowled. “Can you at least tell me where Jaime is?”

The idea of him in King’s Landing— having him so close— had a thrill shooting up her spine. How often had she thought of him, since her return? How many times had she relived their one night together? She’d given up trying to get herself off without remembering how he had felt, tasted, sounded. Her usual go-to’s for that purpose— her favorite rock singer, a famously handsome actor— did nothing for her anymore. How could anyone live up to the memory of Jaime Lannister?

“Is he at the ranch or is he here?” she concluded, rather scared of the answer.

Peck glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “He’s—”

“—Right behind you, wench.” Jaime finished breathlessly, and she whipped around to find him gasping for air, bent over, hands on knees.

“What— why—” she began. He was wearing a suit, the stubbly proto-beard he’d sported back in Westerlands gone, leaving his razor-sharp jaw and cheekbones unobstructed. She hadn’t thought he could possibly look sexier than how he was in jeans, boots, and a worn henley, but her mouth went dry to see that Jaime was every bit as gorgeous in a suit.

A thousand-dragon suit, no less. It fitted him like it had been made expressly for the honor of sitting on his splendid body, and she realized with a jolt that it likely had been— with his height, narrowness of hips and width through the shoulders, there was no way that had come off a rack. She cleared her throat and tried again.

“Why are you in King’s Landing? How do you have a nanny? Why are you in a suit?”

“I work right over there.” He pointed across the street to a glass tower with a gold lion emblazoned on the massive door. “Peck called, asked if it were okay for the twins to meet with the now-famous ‘Briemme’. So I ran down as soon as I could.” He frowned at her for a long moment, just as confused as she was, as he straightened from his panting crouch. Then his eyes widened in realization. “Do you think I live at the ranch? Did you really think I was an actual cowboy?” he asked. “Is that why you kept calling me Cowboy Lannister? I thought you were just making fun of me.”

“I _was_ making fun of you.” She glowered at him. “You’re _not_ a cowboy?” Brienne felt deceived. “That’s false advertising!”

He began to laugh. No, he began to _giggle_. “ _Hee hee hee hee hee_ ,” he gasped. “Oh, gods, Brienne, _hee hee_ , you are too good for this world, _hee hee hee_.”

“What are you, then?” Now she was disgruntled and her palms were starting to itch, not for the first time, with the desire to hit him. “If not a cowboy.”

“I’m a stockbroker,” he said, then hiccuped and giggled once more. “ _Hee hee._ I live in King’s Landing. I just went out to the ranch to help Tyrion, because he was down a hand and needed another for your group.”

She felt her eyelid twitch. “Stop laughing,” she snapped. “You never said anything about yourself. And you know the ranching… stuff… backward and forward. How was I supposed to know that the cowboy on a dude ranch was actually a stockbroker from King’s Landing?”

His laughter tapered off and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he shocked her by saying. Jaime was apologizing? And this time without the worry she’d leave a bad Yarp review for the ranch? “So why are you here, then? On holiday from Tarth?”

 _Huh?_ “I left Tarth years ago,” she told him slowly. “I live here, now.”

His green eyes sharpened, at that, and she had a moment’s clairvoyance: he was thinking about the possibilities between them, now that he knew they both lived in the same city. Excitement had her hands trembling and she smoothed them over her thighs to dry her suddenly-damp palms. His gaze followed the motion, however, studying her skirt, then taking a leisurely trip down the length of her legs and back up again. When their eyes met again, his were blazing with the same heat she’d seen back at in Westerlands.

“What are you doing right now?” he asked. “Peck was bringing the twins to have lunch with me. You should join us.”

“I’d like that—” she began before stopping as she remembered why she was there in the first place. “Oh, no.” Brienne leaned over and grabbed her phone off the little table where she’d been sitting. It was almost 12.30, when she was supposed to meet Tormund. She’d forgotten all about him. “Oh, _no_.”

“What’s wrong, Briemme?” Myrcy asked, her face adorable in its concern.

“Brienne!” shouted a voice from down the block, echoing off the buildings lining it. He wasn’t known for his discretion, was Tormund. “There you are, my beauty!” he continued in a bellow, a broad smile on his bearded face.

It drew the attention of every person in the half-block between them, to her burning mortification, because she knew damned well that they were all expecting at the very least a pretty woman and instead there was… her.

 _Oh, right,_ she thought, _that_ _’s why I hated being with him._ Because he was always putting her in awkward positions, had no comprehension that his behavior embarrassed her, and wouldn’t tone down what he said no matter how she begged him.

She’d broken up with him a year earlier, after the day they’d gone to a pharmacy, and while passing down the lady’s sanitary products aisle, his attention had snagged on a deodorizing spray for women desirous of such a thing.

“What’s wrong with pussy?” Tormund had demanded to know at his usual volume, which was to say, loud enough to rival a jet engine. “Yours smells fantastic! Tastes good, too!”

The stares of the entire store on her as she marched out with him on her heels, asking over and over why she was upset, still sometimes haunted her nightmares.

And then the oblivious lunatic had been shocked, _shocked_ , when she had dumped him.

She felt the familiar shamed blush creep up her throat, and shrank back into herself as she always did when this sort of thing happened. Suddenly, she felt exposed and uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to be back at home with her face buried in Perriane’s soft fur and maybe a tall glass of strong liquor to numb how it felt to be gawked at and found hideous yet again.

“Brienne,” said Jaime softly, and touched her arm. When she made herself look at him, it was to find him watching her with concern. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied, miserable.

“Who is that?” he persisted. She felt the stupidest urge to cry, so humiliated did she feel to have Jaime and Tommen and Myrcy witness how Tormund behaved.

“It’s… he’s a friend,” she said quietly. “We’re going to have lunch together.”

“A friend?” boomed Tormund, finally reaching them. “Bit more than that, I’d say!” And he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her in for a noisy, smacking kiss, unaware of how Brienne leaned away from him. “Tormund Giantsbane!” he introduced himself, hand outthrust at Peck, who shook it with a wide-eyed expression of alarmed bewilderment.

“And who’re you two?” he asked the twins, smiling. One of his redeeming qualities was a fondness for children. _At least he had that going for him_ , Brienne thought, despairing _._

Tommen said he was Myrcy, Myrcy said she was Tommen. No one corrected them. When it was Jaime’s turn to shake his hand, he apparently gave it his all because Tormund’s ginger eyebrows shot up to his hairline and then he put visible effort into his own grip. The two of them grappled with each other without saying a word until Tormund caught sight of the children watching with perplexed curiosity.

“Are you going to arm-wrestle?” asked Tommen. “Sometimes Daddy arm-wrestles wif Uncle Sandor. But he always loses.”

“That’s just because Uncle Sandor is verrrrrrrry big,” said Myrcy loyally. “Daddy could beat anyone else. Just not Uncle Sandor.”

Tormund released Jaime’s hand and grinned down at them, giving his own hand a subtle shake-out. “I bet that’s right, I bet that’s right!” he told the twins. His grin went from affable to sharp when he turned his attention back to Jaime, however. “So, who’re you, then? Have I got a rival for my beauty’s affections?”

 _Oh, by the gods,_ Brienne moaned to herself. She couldn’t bear yet another pitying glance at the ridiculous and inaccurate term, especially not from Jaime.

“No,” she therefore said very quickly to cut off whatever Jaime could say, then forced a laugh. “Of course not, haha. That’s ridiculous! Haha. We’re just— we just met at that dude ranch last month. Jaime’s brother owns it, so he was there, and, and I got along well with the children, and we happened to meet here today, and now it’s time for them to go have lunch, and us, too!”

She knew she was babbling, so she hurried to the table where she’d left all her things, frantically jamming it all back into her tote bag. When she snuck a glance, she saw Jaime staring at her, fury dawning on his face, though she didn’t understand why he’d be angry. Didn’t he realize she was keeping him from any implication that he might actually be romantically linked to her? That she was saving him from humiliation-by-association? Even better, that she was keeping him from having to spend too much time with Tormund?

“It was nice to see you all again,” Brienne told them quickly, carefully looking at Jaime’s ear so that his glaring eyeballs didn’t burn a hole into her face, before averting her gaze. “And to meet you, Peck.” Then she glanced down at the twins and felt her manic smile waver. “Have a nice lunch,” she told them lamely, and couldn’t resist bending down to give each a kiss on the forehead.

She turned back to Tormund. “I changed my mind, let’s have seafood, instead.” She grabbed his arm, aimed a wide, mindless smile in the direction of the Lannister contingent, and started dragging him down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "what's wrong with pussy?" thing actually happened to Florence King, my favorite author, when she was dating a good ol' boy in Mississippi. She, unlike Brienne and myself, found it charming.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have NO IDEA how happy it makes me that you all like the story so much. And how pleased I am that I manage to surprised you so often-- you think OF COURSE the next chapter will go this way and NOPE LOL it goes a different direction entirely and it's so fun to see you plotz in your comments :D Your enjoyment of this fic makes it even more fun for me, in addition to what I got out of writing it, so thank you very much!
> 
> P.S. Sorry this is so late in the day, I was busy with work and then got playing Sim City and forgot. Time flies when you're solving the traffic woes for 80,000 pretend people!

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~*~

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As he watched Brienne drag the redheaded troglodyte down the street, Jaime tried to process what had just happened.

Brienne was not only in KL but lived there. That was good news. _Excellent_ news. The _best_ news. He had scarcely believed it when Peck phoned to tell him she was with them, and bolted out of Lannister Financial headquarters like his ass was on fire, incredulous even when he saw her substantial form with his own eyes. She was angry with him— again— but he knew what to look for, now, and behind the anger was longing. She’d missed him just as much as he’d missed her. And she was just as glad to learn they both lived in the same city as he was, too.

Jaime had been filled with elation— _this one_ — had already begun planning dates he could take her out on, in the elevator down— _this one_ — and then once they were home again, gods, he’d fuck her and fuck her and _fuck_ her— _this one!_

But then the bearded lunatic had appeared, and Jaime had watched in shock as Brienne seemed to shrink a foot, to go from her tall, striking presence to something small and cringing. It was easy to see why; blatant insults were easier for her to field, but a well-meaning, yet misplaced, compliment was impossible to deflect. He had seen her eyes flick over everyone in their vicinity, seen her take in the skepticism and amusement at being called a beauty, and he had ached for her, even as he pitied everyone else. They’d never know how incredible she was, how kind and gentle and passionate…

The ginger loudmouth had kissed her, and Jaime had wanted to punch him. _This one is mine!_ howled through him. It was all he could do to keep from breaking the hand of this Tarquin Giantpain when they shook. But that anger had been nothing in comparison to when Brienne had denied him to Tarquin, making it seem like they barely knew each other.

The idea of his being a contender for Brienne’s attentions was ridiculous, was it? Jaime might not be the rustic bearded crunchy-granola type that seemed her type, if Tarquin were any indication; he might be nothing more than a corporate suit— or a cowboy, however she thought of him— but he hadn’t been _ridiculous_ when she’d panted his name and clawed his back and writhed beneath him. _Please, Jaime, please,_ she had begged, had come on his tongue and fingers and cock, had kissed him so desperately when she left—

_No._

Before he knew what he was doing, he was following them down the street. “Brienne!”

She stopped, turned around, faced him. Must have seen something in his expression, because she spoke a few quick words to her companion that made him remain where he was as she backtracked to Jaime.

“Just tell me one thing,” he ground out when she opened her mouth to speak. The teeming crowd on the sidewalk shot them dirty looks for blocking foot traffic but he ignored them. “When we were at the ranch. Were you dating him? Did you fuck me while you were committed to him?”

Anyone within hearing distance shot them wary looks and scurried away.

“No,” she gasped, shocked. “I wouldn’t— I would never do that. I only got back together with him a week or so after I was home again.” She glanced around, clearly ill-at-ease, and drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

Jaime didn’t know why he was so angry, either. All he knew was the sight of Tarquin kissing her was burned into his retinas and made him furious. How could he have spent the last month yearning for her, and she’d gone right from him to this fool?

_Was I that easy to get over?_

He clenched his jaw so hard he felt the muscle start to cramp. “Why would I be mad? It was only sex, right? To think it was anything else would be _ridiculous_.”

Brienne jerked back in reaction, her eyes huge and wounded. Then they hardened and she snapped, “Yes. Only sex. We’re nothing else to each other, right?”

“Right,” he snarled back. “Nothing else. Just so we’re clear on everything.”

“We’re clear.”

They glowered at each other, breathing hard, and all he wanted was to grab her and shove her against the nearest wall and kiss her until she promised she’d never touch, never even _look_ at, another man ever again. His suit felt hot and constricting; he wanted to strip it off and feel her skin against his once more.

_This one,_ his heart whispered, faint and sad.

With a last searing glare, Brienne turned and strode away toward where Tarquin was waiting with a confusion-furled brow.

And Jaime returned to where his children were waiting with Peck, all of them confused.

He was the most confused of all, though.

~*~

His resolve to move past his small, slight, very insignificant infatuation with Brienne lasted all of a week. Once the twins knew she was in KL, they began a ceaseless campaign to see her again, asking over and over to invite her to their home, to meet her somewhere, even just to talk to her on the phone.

“We have to tell her about the bunnies, Daddy,” Myrcy informed him very seriously, after they spotted a family of rabbits in their favorite park.

“I have to show her my knee, Daddy,” said Tommen, pointing to the big scab he’d acquired after tripping and falling while in pursuit of said family of rabbits.

At first, Jaime was irritated, and it took all he had to keep from responding with anger. After a few days, irritation turned to a sort of resigned despondence.

He soon rallied, however, as he always did, and the despondence shifted into crafty and ambitious planning. He wasn’t going to lose Brienne to that overgrown ginger muppet without a fight.

And if Lannisters knew how to do anything, it was fight.

“I want Brienne’s phone number,” he demanded of Tyrion one night after a particularly grueling day fending off their father’s poisonous glares. The OB was still enraged that Jaime would take off for ten days without his express permission, even over a month later. The fact that Jaime had returned to find his sudden, prolonged absence had had almost no impact on his department whatsoever— and thus proving that his job was more symbolic and had little actual significance at all— was, of course, irrelevant.

“Hah,” said Tyrion. “You know I can’t give that out; it’s private information, provided by a guest.”

“Tyrion—”

“No.”

“ _Tyrion_.”

“ _Jaime_.” He paused. “Are you really sure about this? About her?”

Jaime blew out a frustrated breath. “There’s something there. Something that could be really special. And I want to be able to try. If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out, but… I want to at least try. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if she was the one and we missed our chance.”

Tyrion was quiet so long that Jaime thought maybe the connection had dropped, but then... “Fine. But this conversation never happened.”

Elated, Jaime reached for a pen to write down Brienne’s number, but then the line went dead. He stared at the phone and began to poke at his brother’s number to get him back, when a text came through. It said, “We have five new family members at Brightroar Farm!”

And then came a photo of a bird’s nest, blue eggshells cracked open to reveal a clutch of soggy hatchlings with wide-open orange beaks. Jaime stared at it for a few moments, puzzling over what Tyrion could mean, when two realizations happened in swift succession: first he remembered how excited the twins had been about the eggs and that they’d love to see the baby birds.

Then he realized that in addition to his own name at the top of his phone screen, indicating to whom the text had been sent, were other names. Sansa, Arya, Jeyne… _Brienne_. Feverishly, he swiped and scrolled and did everything he needed to until her phone number was revealed.

_Success_. Triumph and relief flooded him. He was going to call her, and convince her to meet with him, and then he was going to persuade her to date him, and then they’d have lots of sex, and they’d spend time with Tommen and Myrcy, and then—

And _then_ —

Jaime forced himself to stop thinking too far ahead. Getting unrealistically giddy in matters of love had not gone well for him before. He had to keep his head on straight, this time. Had to see things, see Brienne, clearly. Realistically. He couldn’t create wishful expectations ahead of time.

And in case she flat-out refused to go out with him, he needed a contingency plan.

Which was another thing Lannisters knew how to do well. Perhaps not Jaime’s particular forte, not like it was Tywin’s or Tyrion’s, but he’d learned strategy at the knee of the master. He’d figure this out.

.

~*~

.

“Hello?”

Her husky voice was just as affecting to Jaime over the phone as it was in person. He entertained, just briefly, the idea of what phone sex might be like with her. _Almost as devastating as the real thing_ , he decided, and forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.

“Hi, Brienne,” he said. “It’s Jaime.”

Silence. He kept his breathing even.

“C’mon, Brienne, it’s not like I’m back from the dead or anything. Hearing from me can’t be _that_ much of a surprise.”

“What do you want?” she asked at last, her tone civil but chilly.

“Direct and to the point,” he said, smiling even if her hostility boded ill for his hopes. “One of the things I like about you.”

“What do you want?” she repeated. Her voice sounded a little croaky. A little breathless. Was she thinking about phone sex, too?

Jaime’s own breath came a little faster at the prospect of her sharing his lascivious thoughts, but he kept his voice even. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

“Why?” Now she sounded suspicious.

“I want to apologize to you for how I acted when we met again a week ago.”

“You don’t have to buy me dinner for that.”

“I wouldn’t be. I want to apologize to your face, and having dinner together would be a convenient way to make it happen.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is to me.”

“I forgive you, okay?” Her voice was frustrated. “Meeting up isn’t needed.”

Dammit. Jaime had feared she’d be this reluctant and stubborn. _Time for Plan B._

“Well, in that case… I wonder if you might be nice enough to solve a problem I’m having.”

“Problem?” She was wary, and with good reason. No telling what a Lannister could ask for.

“I find myself on the horns of a dilemma, wench, and Tyrion thought you might be able to help me through it.”

“Are you seriously asking me to do you a favor?” He could practically _hear_ her scowling.

“No need to sound so shocked. Surely you aren’t surprised at how shameless I can be?”

Silence. He fervently hoped she was recalling another occasion where he’d been shameless. Had it been round three or four on that single night they’d shared in her bed? He’d spent an hour plying her with his fingers, learning every millimeter of the soft, wet heaven between her legs, bringing her to climax after climax until she’d wept with pleasure, writhing and sobbing his name.

“What do you want, Jaime?” for the third time, with a sigh. _Let_ _’s hope the third time’s the charm, then._

“I have a fête to attend on Friday night,” he told her, “and it so happens that Peck will be attending it as well, so I have no one to watch the twins. I thought you might like to spend some time with them.”

“Why me?” she asked after a moment. “Instead of a friend. Or a professional babysitter. Or literally anyone else.” She paused. “You barely know me. And what you do know, you don’t seem to like too much.”

He couldn’t stifle a quick, indrawn breath. She thought he disliked her? He’d really fucked everything up.

“I don’t dislike you, Brienne. Just the opposite.” He paused, the quiet between them heavy. He waited for her to say something about what amounted to a confession, but she didn’t speak. His heart began to sink but his brain bolstered the rest of him. _Not without a fight_ it reminded him _._ “But if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I won’t bother you again… after this last time.”

Jaime tried to inject his voice with as much teasing charm as he could manage.

And he could manage a lot.

“But I really do need a babysitter for Friday, Brienne. I know the twins are comfortable and happy with you, and you’d never let anything happen to them.”

“I wouldn’t,” she agreed instantly.

“I know.” He had to smile. The mental images of her holding poor sick Myrcy, of her hoisting Tommen up to see the eggs, flitted through his mind. She was so good with them. “So that’s why.”

More silence. She could use it like a weapon, could bludgeon him to death with it.

“Wench?” he prodded, very gently.

“Okay,” she said abruptly. “Yes.”

“You’re the best,” Jaime declared. “An angel sent from the seven heavens.”

“I already said yes, Cowboy Lannister,” she groused. “No need to keep buttering me up.”

“Hm,” he replied, a dirty note in the sound that spoke volumes about where his mind had gone, because the idea of her all slicked-up was an intriguing one.

“It will just be babysitting,” she hurried to add, apparently having heard the dirtiness of it as well. “Nothing more. This will not be a segue into… anything else.”

“Hm,” he said again, thoughtful. That definitely sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than him. “Well, this is great. Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll text you my address and the time to be there after we hang up.”

“Okay.”

“Good night, wench,” he said at last, a smile heavy in his voice, and this time it was amused.

“ ‘Night,” she grumbled, and hung up so abruptly that he knew that, had this been ‘the old days’ when phones had separate receivers and bases, she’d have slammed it down on him with an indignant crash.

_So, this is something,_ he thought, and felt cheered by the prospect. _It_ _’s more than nothing._ She would be in his home on Friday night. He’d have some time before he left and after he returned to remind her of how good they’d been together. He hoped it would be enough.

It _had_ to be enough.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone seemed to enjoy Jaime's nicknames for Tormund, your comments had me laughing :D 
> 
> This one's a tad on the short side, but Wednesday's chapter is almost twice as long. And then there's piles of sex in Friday's chapter, and again next Monday, so... forgive me?
> 
> Don't forget, the names of Brienne's books, and the premise of a murder-solving caterer, are from Diane Mott Davidson's splendid Goldy Behr mysteries. I'd love it if I were smart enough to think of such clever titles, but... alas. I am not.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to jalen_mara because she is sick. Hope you feel better soon! Hope you like it, thanks for reading!

.

~*~

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Lunch with Tormund had not gone well. He’d been, understandably and correctly, insecure after meeting Jaime and had dialed his attempts to charm her up to eleven, becoming more noisy and hearty and effusive until she could no longer bear it. The moment the meal was over, she had bolted from the restaurant with him hard on her heels.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Tormund had asked as he chased her down the busy street. “That Jaime. I can look like that if I try. I can wear a suit. I can get that sort of haircut. I can… I can shave my beard.”

Brienne had stopped, turning to blink at him, amazed. He _loved_ that beard. He had an InstaBran dedicated just to photos of that beard. If he were offering to shave it off, he must really be devoted to her, and she knew at that moment she had to end things with him, because she was never, ever going to love him the way he cared for her.

He wasn’t Jaime. She didn’t even need the freaky little voice muttering _Not_ _this one!_ to tell her the truth of it. He wasn’t Jaime, and that’s all there was to it.

And so she explained it to him. While the foot traffic flowed and pressed around them, in the middle of the sidewalk, Brienne told him everything, from that little click in her soul the first time she laid eyes on Jaime, to the feeling of wholeness while they had sex, and how empty she’d felt since leaving him at the ranch, and her bone-deep relief to see him again.

And Tormund had finally, _finally_ understood. He accepted that he had lost her, that he could not compete with Jaime, that there was no substitution possible. There were no men like Jaime. Only him.

“I wish you the best, then,” he said, his voice shockingly quiet for once. “I hope he treats you well. And that you’ll be happy.”

“Thank you,” was all she could figure out to say, and was surprised to feel tears come to her eyes. Tormund had not been right for her, but he was a good man. “I hope you’ll be happy, too. You deserve the best of women.”

He gave her a sad little smile. “ _You’re_ the best of women. But I’m sure second-best is out there, somewhere.” His grin gained in strength. “Just have to find her.”

“If anyone can, it’s you,” she’d said with a laugh, and he had laughed, too, seeming a little less tragic, and relieved, too, if the way he gave his beard a reassuring little stroke was any indication.

The following week had seen her, by turns, yearning for and angry at Jaime. What right did he have to be so mad at her, so awful, again, when she hadn’t done a thing wrong? The worst she could think she’d done was rushing off with Tormund after Jaime had invited her to have lunch with them. But her fervent need to extricate herself from a situation that had become unbearable to her didn’t justify his mocking words and the harsh tone of voice with which he had said them.

Most of all, she was frustrated, because the hot look in his eyes when they’d glared at each other had gone far in reminding her what he was like when roused. Anger, desire… it was all the same on him: gorgeous. Sexy. Irresistible. He’d looked like he wanted to ravish her right there on the sidewalk, and she’d _wanted_ him to. Her fingertips had tingled with the urge to grab at him, to pull him against her, to feel all that skin and strength up close...

It put her in an uptight, tetchy mood, which was the last thing she needed, since she was already behind in getting the rough draft of her book to Sansa for initial review. Upon her return from Westerlands, instead of working on the book, Brienne had done nothing except write up plot outlines for trashy romance novels. Tyrell House didn’t mind the switch to that genre at all, as romance sold like hotcakes, even better than murder mysteries did.

The problem was that her plots weren’t any good.

“They’re all so _sad_ ,” Sansa had told her gently. “It’s one thing to make the story dramatic, even tragic, but there have to be periodic moments of joy throughout or the reader will feel like slitting her wrists at the end.

“And there has to be a happy ending, Brienne,” she continued. “That’s non-negotiable. You can’t have one of the main characters dying in childbirth, or from an infected amputation, or poisoning at a wedding, or burning to death when the entire city catches on fire, or…”

Here, Brienne heard the shuffling of paper, and knew Sansa was riffling though a print-out of one of the proposals she’d sent along.

“…or being shot while on the toilet,” Sansa concluded. “That last one especially is out of the question. Honestly, Brienne, what are you _thinking_? If you can send me something that is less gloomy, and has a happy ending, I’d be very happy to bring it to Olenna. But until then… perhaps you should stick to the mysteries?”

And so Brienne had forbidden herself to type up any of the other sappy plots teeming in her brain. Meeting up with Jaime again had put a period on any unrealistic hopes she might have fostered, that whatever was between them might come to something. He was angry and rude and hot and unobtainable and Brienne just had to put him behind her, in her past, where he belonged, and move _on_.

Brienne spent the next week finally finishing the first draft of The Grilling Season. It was grinding, endless misery at first, but by Thursday afternoon she was almost back to her normal groove and felt pretty good about it when she finally sent it to an ecstatic and relieved Sansa.

And that’s when Jaime had phoned. After the call, Brienne lowered her head with a thunk to her desk. _Oh, what have I gotten myself into?_ she lamented, staring blindly down at her shiny wood floor after hanging up on Jaime. Why had she agreed? She wanted to see Tommen and Myrcy, very much. She’d missed their sweet faces and golden curls, even their sticky fingers and the way they mispronounced her name. But, seeing them meant seeing Jaime...

Conflicting emotions pinged off the inside of her skull as she mused over her current situation. She felt cross that Jaime had taken an entire week to apologize to her, shocked that he’d bothered to apologize at all, and irritated that Tyrion had given him her number, the rotten little weasel, because she _knew_ it had been him. In spite of that, however, she was also thrilled but dreading the prospect of seeing Jaime again.

She was delighted for the chance to spend more time with the twins, whom she’d never thought to see again after leaving the ranch, but apprehensive that Jaime would use the opportunity to seduce her.

No, she was _sure_ Jaime would use the opportunity to seduce her.

And she was equally sure that she would let him.

And that it would be just as mind-blowing as their lone night together at the ranch.

And that it would end poorly for her, in the end.

And that she’d still do it anyway.

Which was why, when she left her house in Flea Bottom for Jaime’s co-op on pricey River Row, down by the King’s Gate, she packed her largest tote bag with not only her laptop and everything else she usually carried around with her of a day, but also a change of clothes and her toothbrush. There was a chance she wouldn’t need them, but there was also a chance she _would_ , and it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

Jaime had sent a KingsRide to pick her up, which was nice, not having to take the subway for once and then walk for blocks to get to where she needed to go. It deposited her at the base of a tall, elegant building so close to the river she could smell the water, fresh and bracing and reminding her of home, of Tarth. She hadn’t been there in a while and felt a pang of guilt, mentally making a note to phone her father and arrange for a week on the island in the near future.

The elevator whisked her up to the tenth floor, and all too soon, she stood before Jaime’s door, fist raised to knock. She had the strangest feeling, like she stood upon a knife-edge of a choice, that the outcome of that night would decide the rest of her life. A thick pulse of terror rolled through her. If she knocked on that door, she risked her heart and pain and devastation.

 _I can just go home,_ she thought. _Who cares if he can’t attend his fancy party? I can go home, and pretend we never met. In time, anything I feel for him will fade, and I won’t have to worry about a thing._

Brienne wasn’t a stupid woman. She knew it was rash to think more might be possible with Jaime. All they had in common was chemistry like lightning in a bottle, for whatever reason— she’d given up trying to understand which of her dubious charms rendered her so appealing to him, but she was not going to look that gift horse in the mouth— and it was very possible that, after familiarity with each other began to breed contempt, they’d part ways and move on.

So the question became, was it worth it? Was the pleasure worth the heartache she was sure to feel when it ended? Or should she protect herself, instead? She could easily envision the rest of her life as an endless stretch of days unencumbered by the noise and mess and conflict inherent in having a family.

The safety of it called to her. The placid boredom of her life would be a calm-surfaced pond with nary a ripple to disturb its waters. All she’d to endure was the odd pang of loneliness, easily remedied by a visit to Oldtown or Winterfell or Tarth to see family or friends. Her home would be serene and tidy, and the silence would echo in its empty rooms to remind her of what a coward she was.

A coward, but a coward with a whole heart.

Yes, it would be risking much. What she stood to gain, however…

_Never let it be said that a Tarth was a coward._

Brienne swallowed. Squared her shoulders.

And knocked.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have time to respond to a few comments-- everyone in my territory is losing their minds and I hit the magic number of 50 clients today and am so so busy-- so please forgive me, I do appreciate your time and effort in making them, even if I can't thank you individually!
> 
> Hope you like this chapter. Just a reminder: my beta, Mikki, is a magician of awesomeness and you should all be thanking her, instead of me, for any quality inherent in this story.

.

~*~

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Jaime was dressed and ready before he’d even sent the KingsRide to pick Brienne up from her place in Flea Bottom, so while he waited, he futzed around, making sure the twins were not getting up to mischief or making a mess. He folded a last load of laundry, checked to be sure the refrigerator was fully stocked, and that nothing incriminating was in plain sight. For some reason— he dared not delve too deeply into why— he had a horror of Brienne learning something terrible about him that would just cement the bad opinion she already held.

The children had had dinner, were bathed and in their pajamas. The house was tidy, his laptop was securely password-locked so she couldn’t check the porn sites in his browser history, the lube he used for jerking off was _very_ securely hidden in a winter boot in the very back of the spare room’s closet. There were no incriminating items to repulse her, like nose hair clippers or diarrhea medicine, and nothing to suggest he was anything but the careful, somewhat over-doting father he really was.

Still, there could be something…

He was concentrating so hard on it that when the doorbell rang, he jumped, making the twins laugh at him.

“Do you remember who I said would stay with you while I was at the boring party?” he asked them.

Identical cherubic faces tilted up to him, and Tommen shouted, “Briemme!”

Then they were on their feet, toys abandoned, and pelting toward the door, shrieking like marauding Dothraki. Their little hands couldn’t manage the doorknob with its lock, however, and they were vocalizing their impatience by the time he reached them to provide assistance.

“Daddy, _hurry_ ,” commanded Myrcella. “Briemme is here!”

He had to clear them away, protesting loudly, so he could swing the door open, and their screams of joy to see her were deafening. But Jaime kind of felt like screaming a little, himself. She was every bit as tall as he remembered, and her eyes were every bit as lovely. When she lifted them from the children to meet his, he felt like he’d taken a hard impact to the chest, leaving him more than a little breathless. She swallowed hard, and he realized she was just as nervous as he was.

“Come in,” he murmured, stepping back, and let her enter.

The moment the door was shut behind her, she was on her knees and the twins were in her arms. “Hello, my ducklings,” she said, her voice as warm and gentle as ever. “I missed you.”

Myrcy’s joy faded a little, and she gazed at Brienne with sober green eyes. “Did you forget, Briemme? We’re not ducklings, we’re lion cubs!” And Tommen roared to punctuate it.

“I did forget, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said, grinning, and she laughed when they covered her face in sticky kisses. Her face lit up with happiness, and Jaime felt hollowed out with longing.

 _If I hadn_ _’t fucked everything up,_ he thought wistfully, _she could be more than just my children_ _’s reluctant babysitter. She could be my girlfriend. Or more. She could be whatever she wanted, as long as she were_ _mine_ _. And theirs. Ours._

Then he thought more rebelliously, _she_ _should_ _be ours_. There was no reason why she couldn’t be. He would win her over. To win her _back_ , because there had been a while— a short while, granted— that she _had_ been his. It had felt good, and right, and they could feel it again. He just had to show her he wasn’t an asshole like she thought.

Then his shoulders slumped, because it seemed like an insurmountable task; he _was_ an asshole. That was undeniable. His only hope lay in trying to be… less of one? Or at least the kind of asshole she could endure?

“You okay up there?” she asked, looking up from where Tommen was earnestly showing her his newest stuffed plushie, a tortoiseshell kitten he hadn’t let out of his sight in days. There was a faint grin curling her lips, and her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were a brilliant, impossible blue. Jaime wanted to pull her to her feet and kiss her senseless.

He wanted to tell the KingsRide driver, still waiting downstairs to take him to the fête, to just go away because he was staying home with his family. They could watch a kiddie movie until the twins fell asleep, then put them to bed and watch a grown-up movie until they could no longer keep their roaming hands from each other. Then they could go to his room and fuck each other into a stupor. The idea of it made him smile, even as yearning for it made his chest tighten.

“Yeah,” he replied, then stretched his arms out at his sides. “Do I look alright?”

He meant, ‘did my kids smear me with anything horrible?’, a genuine concern when one was the parent of toddlers, but Brienne seemed to take it differently. Her splendid eyes observed him, taking in his shoulders and chest and hips and legs in the tuxedo, before traveling in a leisurely course back up again.

Then she blushed and coughed and looked away. “Sure,” she said. “Just fine.”

 _Oh, wench,_ he thought with affection, deeply relieved that he wasn’t alone in his attraction, that this chemistry between them wasn’t just his imagination, that the connection to each other had not been merely a crazy one-time thing, done and quickly expended.

“Well,” he said, “let me give you the tour.”

“We’ll do it!” Tommen exclaimed, and he and Myrcy each grabbed a hand to drag Brienne further into the apartment. “Here’s the kitchen—”

“They’ve already eaten, so from now on, water only,” interjected Jaime.

“And here’s the little bathroom, and here’s Daddy’s room—” Myrcy continued.

Jaime suppressed a smile when her face flamed pink with the scant glance she aimed through that doorway.

Tommen took up the narrative after that. “And here’s the spare room— Uncle Tyrion and Aunt Tysha stay there when they visit— and here’s the big bathroom, and—”

“—and here’s our room!” Myrcy finished, throwing open the door with a flourish. She tried to drag Brienne deeper into the room but Jaime stopped her.

“I have more things to talk to Brienne about,” he said. “You can introduce her to all your dolls after I go.” His daughter pouted a little but permitted Brienne to follow Jaime down the hallway to the living room.

He handed her a print-out of all the numbers she might need: his cell, Peck and Pia’s cells, the pediatrician, poison control center, police, fire, the number of the hotel where the gala was being held…

Then he handed her the print-out of evacuation routes from the apartment building, and pointed out where the fire escapes were.

When he looked up from explaining it all to her, he found that Brienne was watching him with a tender little smile on her face, and it made him feel a bit embarrassed. “I’m allowed to be overprotective,” he said defensively.

“Of course you are,” she agreed easily, her smile widening. “You’re a good father.”

It made a warm little glow start in his belly. He mumbled something that might have been “thank you” or “shut up” and was very glad when his cell dinged; a glance told him it was the KingsRide driver trying to hurry him along.

“That’s my cue,” Jaime said with reluctance. “Gotta go. I’ll be home as soon as I can escape.”

“Not looking forward to this shindig, then?” Brienne murmured, automatically reaching for the hands the twins stretched up for her to take.

He grimaced. “Hardly. They’re always boring, and I have to spend the whole time fending off ass-kissers and women trying to—” He cut himself off there, not wanting to give her the idea he was any sort of ladies’ man, but she raised a brow at him.

“So in demand,” she said with a smirk. “How awful for you.”

“Just as awful in its own way as not being in demand at all,” he quipped back, his tone light. “Two sides of the same coin.”

“Myrcy, Tommen, be good for Brienne, okay?” He bent to kiss each of them as they chimed, “Okay, Daddy!” up at him.

He wanted to lean forward and drop a kiss on her, too, but knew he risked a swift right hook, and he’d have a hell of a time explaining a black eye and fat lip to his coworkers and clients. And, worse, his father.

“Have fun,” was all he ended up saying, and with a last glance at the trio he was leaving behind, departed.

The fête (why couldn’t they just have called it a party?) was just as tiresome as Jaime had expected it to be, the usual group of power players trailed by sycophants and lackeys. The female CEOs seemed just as bored as he was to be there; Yara Greyjoy of Pyke Enterprises looked two minutes from falling asleep in the aurochs tartare, and Daenerys Targaryen of Drogon Inc. was fending off a bevy of would-be suitors with barely-concealed eye-rolling.

After greeting them, Jaime glad-handed the male CEOs and smiled blandly at their trophy wives, pretending to be oblivious to the women’s covetous stares and wordless, heavy-lidded invitations to secret debauchery. A few months ago, he might even have sent an equally heavy-lidded glance of acceptance to one of them, and considered meeting her in a cozy niche somewhere for a few minutes of near-anonymous sex.

But now all he could think about was what it would have been like if Brienne had been there with him, and if he could have persuaded her to join him for a little tryst in the coat room. The thought of Brienne, warm and plain and sweet, at home with his children, lingered in the back of his mind like the pesky background hum of an air conditioner, turning any slight temptation he could muster to apathy.

“You could at least pretend you’re happy to be here,” commented his father when Jaime finally worked his way across the room to Tywin.

Jaime shrugged. “Why lie?”

The OB glowered in that way that flattened his mouth and made him look like a frog, radiating disapproval. Jaime just smiled at him and sipped champagne.

“If _he_ is here,” Tywin said, nodding toward where Peck was dancing with his girlfriend, Jaime’s assistant, Pia, “then who’s with your children? Did you get someone from that agency I researched?”

“A friend was kind enough to agree to stay with them,” Jaime replied neutrally.

His assistant and his nanny looked happy, Pia smiling radiantly as Peck swept her across the dance floor with more enthusiasm than grace. Jaime recalled how he and Cersei had been the same, once: eyes for none but each other, feet moving on autopilot, everyone else a blur, wrapped up in their own little world.

“A friend?” Tywin said sharply, piercing the little haze of misery that had crept over Jaime while he mused over the vagaries of life. “You don’t have any friends.”

Jaime ducked his head with a rueful laugh. Not for the OB, the ways of a supportive and affectionate parent.

“Contrary to your flattering belief, I actually _do_ have some friends,” he countered, but mildly, even though it was admittedly a stretch to consider Brienne anything more than a reluctant acquaintance. Who he’d once fucked for a single glorious night. He sighed wistfully at the memory and added, “The twins love her.”

His father’s sharp green gaze cut abruptly to him and Jaime’s stomach knotted; dammit, why had he said that?

“ _Her_?” said the OB. “If you’re seeing someone, why didn’t you bring her with you tonight, instead?” His father had been vexed by the rumors a-swirl through their social echelon about Jaime’s proclivities: if they weren’t gossiping about his reproducing with his first cousin and wondering what sort of genetic disaster might befall Tommen and Myrcella because of it, they were speculating that he was actually gay, had married Cersei to serve as his beard, and since her death had reverted to his regular deviant ways.

The fact that not a single man could be found to support any of these rumors didn’t deter them in the least.

The fact that Jaime could not have cared less and did nothing to contradict the rumors didn’t help, though.

“I’m not _seeing_ her,” he replied. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s her name? Is she anyone? Who are her people?” Tywin fired the questions at him as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I’m not telling you her name, because it’s not important and I don’t want you breaching her privacy with an investigation,” Jaime snapped. “Her people are her own business, meaning it’s none of _yours_. I’m not dating her, or anyone else, so just… stop.”

“It’s been over three years since Cersei’s death,” Tywin continued after a moment of silence, offended tension wafting off him like aftershave, but at the possibility of being able to use his eligible son to cement a business alliance perked him up. “It’s well time for you to remarry. I’ll have a list of suitable women prepared and emailed—”

Jaime set his empty champagne glass down on the nearest table with a crystalline thunk. Every time the OB got that glint in his cold green eyes, it boded ill for everyone around.

“Good night, Father,” he said, and strode away, aware of attention on him and not caring in the slightest. He extracted his phone and began to order a car but changed his mind. It wouldn’t kill him to take the subway, and he felt like walking a bit, anyway, to work off his irritation. A few blocks’ stroll, and he was jogging down the subway steps, dragging his bow tie loose. He hopped on the trusty Q and let it take him cross-town, feeling blissfully normal in spite of the tuxedo.

 _Gods bless KL_ , he thought when his fancy attire didn’t cause so much as a single blasé eye to blink. He got off at King’s Gate and enjoyed the cooler night air for the few blocks it took to get from the stop to his building.

 _Brienne is waiting for me._ He grinned at the rush of pleasure he felt at the thought. Would she be awake and watching television? Asleep, chin resting on her curled fist? It was early to come home from an event— and oh, how he would hear about it from the OB on Monday morning— but late for Myrcy and Tommen, so they were surely in bed by now. He could easily imagine Brienne carrying their warm, sleepy little bodies to their room and tucking them in with a kiss.

He _had_ to come up with a way to change her mind about him.

Jaime let himself into his apartment as quietly as possible, so as to not disturb anyone, but found Brienne awake in the living room. He watched her for a moment, enjoying how well she seemed to fit into his family’s space, how her presence warmed it up and made it feel like more of a home.

There were manuscript pages all over the sofa, and her hair was a wild tumble of pale curls, as if she’d spent the entire time he’d been gone raking her hands through it in frustration. She had her sock-feet braced on the edge of the coffee table and her laptop on her upraised knees, typing furiously.

“Shhhh,” she muttered around the pencil clenched between her teeth, “just give me a… I need to…”

And then she sort of faded into a writerly fugue state where nothing existed but her and the computer. Jaime grinned and began to peel off the layers of his tux while walking to his bedroom, eager to be out of the penguin suit and into some sweatpants.

“Jaime?” she called out, but softly, and he reversed and went back to the living room. “Sorry,” she said, “When I get into a zone, I just—”

She cut off abruptly, her magnificent eyes widening, and he realized that she could see his naked torso between the open panels of his unbuttoned shirt. She stared for a long moment, silent, and then swallowed heavily before lifting her gaze to his. It felt like a bolt of lightning zinged from her eyes to his, desire glowing in them like the heart of a flame.

 _She still wants me._ The knowledge of it sent a streak of lust and exultation through him.

“Well, time to go,” she said abruptly, and stood. Jaime bit his lip to hide a smile and watched as she began to jam her papers and laptop into her bag, then her feet into her shoes.

“How were they?” he asked, his tone carefully casual as she practically ran for the door. He felt a little guilty to use his children as a way to delay her leaving, but figured they’d not mind if they knew it was for a good cause.

Brienne froze. “What?”

“The twins. Any problems?” He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her away. She was a doe, all legs and eyes and terror of the hunter. He had to stalk her with care.

“They were— they were fine,” she said breathlessly, watching warily as he came closer.

“What did you do?” he asked next, a step closer.

She inched away. “We watched an episode of that show they like—”

“Which one?” He reached out and plucked the strap of her bag from her hand, depositing it on the nearest chair.

“I don’t remember.” Her back hit the door. “Then I helped them brush their teeth—”

“Good. Don’t want any cavities.” He was just a scant small distance from her, now, and could feel the heat rising from her skin.

“N-no. Then I read them a story.” Her eyes caught the light from the chandelier overhead, its refractions shimmering in their blue depths. Her lips were parted and Jaime could see her chest heaving a little.

“Did they fight going to bed?” he asked, his voice low, intimate.

Brienne was flattened against the door, and he had moved close enough that he could feel the soft cotton of her shirt against his bare chest. Her mouth was trembling, and when she spoke, her voice was faint and breathy.

“No, they fell asleep right away—”

Jaime kissed her, then, his mouth cutting off her words. She held herself aloof for all of three seconds before sagging against him, _melting_ against him in the way he had missed, and when she kissed him back, it was just as fierce as the first time.

Something in him sighed _this one,_ and its relief matched his own.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments for last chapter. Hope you enjoy this one! I just realized, last night, that chapter 25 means only 10 more chapters to go before this is done-- 3.33 more weeks. 
> 
> I have started another fic, to be called Man of the Hour, and there's a remote possibility it could be ready for publication by July. it'll be fluffy and smut-free, a palate-cleanser after all the filth in this story. I'll post a few little snippets of it at the end of each remaining chapter, so let me know what you think!

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~*~

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It was exactly like it had been in the barn, with Brienne going up in flames, a match set to parched tinder. There was a sharp taste to his mouth, like a dry champagne, and his tongue was forceful and skilled in coaxing hers to respond. She combed her hands through his hair and delighted in how the cool silk of it slid between her fingers. He groaned into her mouth and she whimpered back, relief making her almost dizzy.

Gods, she wanted him badly, had wanted him all these weeks since Westerlands. He was so confusing, so awful and so wonderful at the same time, and she was so damned disappointed in herself for not being able to excise her weakness for him.

How many times, in the intervening weeks, had she contemplated what she would do if she ever saw him again? If, miraculously, he made a pass at her? She’d come up with a dozen different scenarios, all of which included improbable rejections on her part and shamefaced regret on his. In only one case had she been honest with herself and pictured it ending up precisely as what was actually happening: with them yanking on each other’s clothes and frantically kissing.

That sole case, though, had been a humdinger of a fantasy. It had featured her giving him an enthusiastic blow job while raking her nails down his thighs, and quite a lot of orgasmic shouting, and she’d used it as her primary wank-fodder when she masturbated since the first moment she’d thought of it. It never failed to bring her— within a shockingly brief time, in fact.

But the reality of Jaime, of the sound of his voice and the heat of his body, his spicy, peppery scent and the sight of his face and the taste of his mouth, came as close to her thwarted imaginings as a wheel of cheese to the moon. There was just so much to him, such immense presence in every way, overwhelming her ability to protect herself. She felt herself drowning in him even as she knew how deadly he was going to be to her heart.

A streak of heat against her thigh had her wrenching her lips from his and looking down. At some point they’d torn their trousers open, the garments bunched inelegantly around their knees, and their shirts were open so they could align their chests, feel each other’s skin and heat. Jaime’s cock was long and thick, straining toward her, the wet tip kissing her clit where it peeked from her labia, eager for attention.

The memory of her lone realistic fantasy of Jaime had her slipping down, desperate to take him in her mouth, but his hands under her arms prevented it.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he growled, and spun her to face the door. “It’ll be over in five seconds if you do that.”

He pressed his whole body against her, his erection slipping between her thighs and gliding wantonly through her drenched folds, making her jerk and whine in frustrated arousal.

“Another time,” Jaime continued. His hand was gentle on the nape of her neck as he bent her forward, just a little, just enough to cant her hips into position. “And you can suck on me all you want. I’ll come in your mouth, anything.”

Brienne’s lungs seized at his words, and she felt horribly empty, aching for him to penetrate her. “Fuck me,” she panted, “I need you, _Jaime_ —”

The head of his cock found the wet notch of her core. There was a moment’s resistance, easily overcome as her body accommodated his size, and then he was buried fully in her. The coarseness of his pubic hair was scratchy against the soft flesh of her buttocks but she loved it, loved the proof that she’d taken all of him, that he was sunk in her to the base. She felt stretched and swollen, invaded, _taken_ , but his moan in her ear told her he was in just as much thrall of her, too.

The steel of the door was pleasantly cool against her flushed cheek as he pressed her against it. He withdrew, then slid back in, and there was some secret part of her being stroked that she’d never before knew existed, that had never seen stimulation prior to this night. Brienne let out a startled mewl and pressed back against him, desperate to feel it again. When he thrust out and in another few times, her mouth opened in a wordless cry as she fell into a shockingly sudden climax.

“Brienne,” Jaime gasped against her shoulder, “did you just come?”

“Mmm!” was all she could manage, shaking in the circle of his arms. “Ssso good!”

“Gods,” he muttered, his voice dazed. “You’re incredible.” He fucked her harder, somehow even deeper, and with a half-dozen more strokes she was moaning helplessly and clenching around his cock in a second peak, palms flat against the door to brace herself.

“What is happening with you?” he demanded breathlessly, his voice guttural. Sweat from his chest had dampened her shirt against her back. His hands were hard on her tits, her nipples rubbing and rolling between his spread fingers. He brought one hand down to cup her pussy, to thumb her clit and feel the thick intrusion of his cock as it speared into her. “You’re so wet, shit, Brienne, you…”

“It’s the— the angle,” Brienne gasped. Pleasure was spiraling and winding through her, tighter and tighter, a warning that another peak was approaching. If the orgasms of before had been good, this next one was going to end her. “It’s so good, it’s perfect, Jaime, don’t stop, don’t—”

Her voice rose in pitch and volume as each thrust nudged her closer to coming. Jaime brought his other hand to her mouth.

“I want to hear you scream,” he ground out, sounding wrecked, at the very end of his endurance, like it was killing him to hold on so long. “But—”

She nodded in comprehension. They couldn’t be too loud and risk waking the twins. The empty feeling in her mouth, the thwarted longing to suck him, had her taking two of his fingers between her lips, running her tongue over the sensitive pads, and Jaime groaned, bucking helplessly.

“Fuck, Brienne, gods, you’re unbelievable—” He pressed her so hard against the door she couldn’t take a full breath. The steel was cold against her flattened breasts and hard nipples, and Jaime was an unyielding bulwark against her back, shoving closer and closer, hips snapping against her harder and harder. The head of his cock dragged over that amazing, miraculous place inside, all that was needed to cut the last thread of tension holding her back. She writhed, keening around his fingers in her mouth, sucking hard on them, grinding back to make sure she was taking every bit of him.

Jaime tried to muffle his roar against her shoulder, and she realized dimly that he was biting into her shirt in a desperate bid to keep from rattling the windows from the force of his climax. They shook against each other, wrenched by long, drawn-out spasms of pleasure. Brienne leaned her head against the door, gasping, and reality slowly began to encroach once more.

With reality came an unlocking of tensed muscles, however, and she slumped back against Jaime while sincerely hoping he was not suffering likewise, or they’d both go crashing to the floor.

Fortunately, he still had working use of his muscles and was able to hold her upright.

“I’ve never had sex like that before,” he murmured against her neck, scattering open-mouthed kisses over the sweat-damp skin. “I didn’t even know it was possible. Was that your G-spot?”

“I think so,” she mumbled. His semen was beginning to slide out around his cock, but rather than repulsing her, she only felt— somehow, after all that— aroused again. “I need a towel.”

“Yeah, we’re both sweaty,” he misunderstood, and withdrew from her, releasing a flood of come. “…oh.”

“Yeah, not for the sweat.” She smiled blearily against the door. “You’ve drenched me.”

Jaime groaned, and his hot wet mouth opened over her neck again, sucking on the sensitive patch over her pulse. He was so damned sexy, the situation was sexy, his come running down her legs was sexy. She felt filthy and perverse and reckless and better than she ever had in her life.

Except, perhaps, for that first time with him in the barn… _that_ was burned into her mind as the A++ experience of all time.

Though this was a _very_ close second.

Strength was returning to her limbs at last. “Towel,” she repeated, and lurched around to face him.

He shuffled back a step before reaching for his pants, hauling them up from where they’d pooled at his ankles. It should have looked ridiculous, but with his mussed hair and flushed cheeks and lust-brightened eyes, he was just as appealing as ever.

“We dripped on the tuxedo,” he said. He grinned ruefully. “A _lot_. I can’t send these to the cleaners, they’ll never come clean.”

“Maybe burn them, instead?” Brienne suggested in a weak, fucked-out voice. “A sacrifice to the gods of good sex.”

“That _was_ good sex,” Jaime agreed. He yanked up his zipper, grimacing a little at the dampness of the fabric, and stepped close to her again, nuzzling against her cheeks and chin. “That was amazing sex. The _best_ sex. Sex we need to have over and over again.”

“I’m not quite sure we survived,” said Brienne. “Let’s wait until we’re positive we’re still among the living before we make plans for anything else.” She gathered her courage and nuzzled back, enjoying the feel of his skin on hers. “Towel?”

“Right. One towel, coming up.” He smiled and moved away. “Give me a second.”

He padded away, disappearing down the hall. She heard water running, and then he returned with a damp wash cloth in one hand and towel in the other.

“No, let me,” he said when Brienne tried to take them from him, and surprised her by kneeling at her feet. Jaime made cleaning up post-sex into a sensual event, moving the warm cloth in long strokes along her skin, darting into the swollen cleft between her legs just enough to make a tiny gasp escape her and her hips pulse toward him in reaction. He touched a kiss to the gentle roundness of her belly below her navel and then smiled up at her with gleaming green eyes.

“Your outfit’s a goner,” he commented when done. “Take it all off, I’ll throw it in the wash for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Brienne had been floating in a euphoric haze but now felt her muzzy brain sharpen even as she obeyed his command and stepped out of her shoes, then pulled off her jeans and panties. “Am I staying until tomorrow?”

He blinked at her in surprise, eyes narrowing a little. “Of course you are. If you think I’m letting you go now, you’re out of your mind.” He took her discarded clothes, then tugged her shirt off the rest of the way. “I might keep you chained in my sex dungeon forever, after that.”

With that pronouncement, he left her standing in his foyer, completely nude and a little confused. She didn’t put any credence in his nonsense about a sex dungeon— not that she’d object to exploring the wonders of handcuffs and perhaps a little light domination— but it sounded like he had something a little more long-term in mind. Suddenly, she felt completely out of her depth. She didn’t have much experience with relationships in the first place, and none where this level of intensity existed. Was it normal to go from ‘fucking like rabid minks’ to being in an actual relationship? What was the etiquette?

“I have so many questions,” she told him when he came back, the washing machine beginning its rhythmic sloshing from elsewhere in the apartment.

“Same,” said Jaime. “We’ll get to them all, eventually.”

He’d lost the rest of the ill-fated tuxedo and was prowling around as naked as the day he was born, without an iota of self-consciousness to be seen. He was gorgeous. Shouldn’t three orgasms have wrung all the desire out of Brienne? And yet the sight of him, all golden skin and flexing thigh muscles and wide shoulders, was reversing Jaime’s hard work with the washcloth and towel of a few minutes before.

“Have I mentioned how much I like that you don’t wear a bra? Because I really, really like that you don’t wear a bra,” he continued, blithely unaware of the tenor of her lascivious thoughts.

“Uh, thanks,” Brienne said faintly, “but my questions are more along the lines of ‘what the hell is this?’ and ‘what do we do next?’.“

He took her in his arms and kissed her lightly. “This is us getting along, for once, so don’t do or say anything to jinx it.”

“But—”

“As for what we’re doing next, I thought perhaps you’d appreciate a quick shower, though my tub is the size of a small pool and we could always have a bath instead.” He dropped another kiss on her lips. “Then, after we’re clean, I thought we could get dirty again. Wasn’t there mention of sucking me off? I distinctly recall mention of sucking me off.”

Brienne felt her knees wobble, from reawakened lust but also relief. If he was going to try to not be an ass at least for the rest of the night, perhaps— maybe— it might not end in her wanting to wring his neck. Again.

“A bath,” she therefore said, “since my legs can’t hold me up long enough for a shower.”

“Smart thinking,” said Jaime with a naughty grin. He hooked his arm around her waist and started guiding her toward where his bathroom lay in wait.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks. To think smart.” To hell with it. Apprehension could wait until tomorrow.

He huffed a laugh and nuzzled her throat. “And every dragon well-deserved.”

Jaime turned on the water and as soon as it ran hot, dumped half a bottle of the twins’ bubble bath into the tub. The scent of artificial mangoes filled the air and the room quickly steamed up, making the room feel close, intimate. Condensation mingled with a bead of sweat on his neck and trickled down to pool in the hollow of his throat. Brienne swallowed hard as the urge to lick him all over surfaced once more.

He turned to her with an inquiring glance and gestured in a courtly, butler-like manner. “Your bath, madam?”

_Dork_. It was unnervingly, frighteningly endearing. Brienne mentally started building a wall around her heart. It would not do to care for him, since that way lay ruin and despair and misery. She was a modern woman, a cosmopolitan and urbane woman. She knew what was what. She was aware of hook-up culture, despite never having participated in it much, more for lack of partners than willingness.

_I can handle this._

Brienne thus wrestled all her worries into submission and hastened into the tub, shifting so he could sit behind her with legs stretched along hers to either side, then relaxed back against him. His cock made a half-hearted attempt to stiffen but he told her with a laugh to ignore it for now.

_I won_ _’t love him. I won’t._

Based on prior experience, it was just a matter of time until Jaime reverted to type and the post-orgasmic glow of good behavior faded. But… while it lasted? While his mood stayed good, and his tongue remained civil? Yeah, she was okay with enjoying it as long as possible.

Brienne dropped her head back against his shoulder and let herself be happy, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New story snippet:
> 
> “So you’re the new neighbor,” she told the dog, and squatted down to be at eye level with the beast, holding out a hand to sniff. “You’re a beautiful baby, yes, you are! What’s your name, beautiful baby?”
> 
> “She doesn’t do much talking,” the dog’s owner said, sounding amused, “so I act as her spokesperson.”
> 
> Brienne glanced up and was glad for the elevator wall close at her back, so when she tipped off balance she didn’t fall on her ass, because he was smiling and it made her feel kind of dizzy. 
> 
> “Ah,” she said stupidly. “So what’s her name?”
> 
> “Cersei,” replied the man. “After my sister, who is also a bitch.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, thanks for your comments, I'm thrilled you liked that last chapter so much. Smut is fun, eh? Here, have some more.
> 
> And another snippet of the new fic at the end.

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~*~

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Jaime had learned, over the years, that it was mostly unwise to make definitive statements of fact. It was so easy to be proven wrong and look like a fool.

But he was prepared to declare that heaven was a place right there in Westeros; he’d found it in Brienne’s mouth.

He sat up against the headboard of his big bed, Brienne curled on her side near him, arms draped over his hips while she suctioned all the sanity from his mind with the talented combination of lips, tongue, and even gentle and judicious application of her teeth. He knew she didn’t have a huge amount of experience, but she had the the instincts of a voluptuary and the enthusiasm of a nymphomaniac. He doubted the most knowledgeable courtesan from the most licentious brothel in Lys would be able to please him as well.

It was the most difficult thing he’d ever done in his life, telling her to take her mouth off of his cock, but one thing he wanted even more than to come was to come inside Brienne, and he used his hands to urge her to straddle his hips. He loved having her on top, loved those long thighs rising on either side of him, loved being able to play with her tits while she fucked herself on his cock, but it seemed she had something else in mind and rolled to her back beside him.

“I want to feel you on top of me again,” she entreated. “Like the first time, in the barn.”

That first time in the barn still occupied pride of place for ‘best sex he’d ever had in his life’ so she didn’t have to ask him twice. Jaime shifted, turned, and then he was between her thighs and slipping deep into her. They both sighed in relief. Jaime wondered if it felt the same to her, as if she were only truly whole when he was inside her, because it was only when he was buried in her that he felt complete, anymore. It had unnerved him, how right it felt, the very first time they’d fucked, in the barn. With each subsequent time, the sensation had evolved from weird to good, and now, at that moment, became an absolute necessity.

Brienne’s arms and legs wrapped around him, holding him so tightly she lifted an inch from the bed when he withdrew, as if she were afraid he’d leave her. Didn’t she realize that he was just as afraid that _she_ would leave _him_? Now that he knew what it was like to have her and then do without… now that he knew they both lived in the same city… now that they had been given a second chance… Jaime buried his face against her throat and tried to calm the urgency of his thrusts, tried to make them smoother, more rhythmic, but he was so damned glad to be inside her again that he was barely able to hold back his orgasm until hers began.

Brienne was just as passionate this time as all the other times, her strong body moving against him earnestly, throat arched as she moaned his name over and over. Knowing that he was in her mind as well as in her body while she came was powerfully affecting to him. He could tell she wasn’t thinking of anyone else, she hadn’t constructed some alternate scenario in order to get off. She wanted _him_. She was fucking _him_. It mattered that it was _him_.

“I don’t want to go so long without you again,” he told her as he thrust faster, moving them nearer to climax. “It’s too much time.”

“Yes,” she agreed on a gasp, flexing hotly around him. She arched against him, hands in his hair, giving him a delectable kiss that had his toes curling. “I missed you so much _,_ Jaime.”

He came, at that, white light blinding him, her gasps in his ear the only thing he could perceive beyond his cascading pleasure. “Brienne,” he panted into her ear as his climax wracked him and his vision narrowed to a pinprick, swallowed by rapture. “Brienne, Brienne.” _This one._

When his strength returned, he untangled their limbs and rolled to her side. He peered through the gloom of his bedroom to the clock and saw it was after six in the morning. They’d grabbed an hour or so of sleep between the first and second times, and then again between the second and this third time. He felt as wrung-out as an old dish rag, his muscles noodle-like from the exertion of making love, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this _happy_.

A fingertip skated down his nose, and he grinned as he turned his face toward her. She was laying on her belly again, propped up on her elbows, with one hand outstretched to touch him. The expression on her face was unreadable; she wasn’t frowning, but she wasn’t smiling, either.

“What is it?” he asked, taking her hand in his with the intent to bring it to his lips for a kiss, but like she had the last time he’d tried, all those weeks ago, she pulled back.

“So… is this a one-off, just tonight and never again?” Brienne paused, then rushed to add, “Because that’s okay, if so...” She trailed off, seeming intensely unsure and uncomfortable.

The difference between her confidence and self-assurance when they had sex, the unselfconscious lust she showed while they fucked each other stupid, was in marked contrast to the inhibited, almost apologetic way she was the rest of the time. He thought, not for the first time, that if she displayed that level of composure and confidence when she _wasn_ _’t_ having sex, she’d be a powerhouse the likes of which the world hadn’t seen for centuries.

Jaime studied her face carefully. He knew what he wanted from her, but also that he had to tread carefully, to not say the wrong thing and scare her away or somehow confirm any ideas she might have that this was some weird fluke. He made his limp-noodle arm move so he could cup her head and bring her close for a kiss. Even as tired as he was, even after coming twice, he felt a little spark of excitement flare to life in his stomach at the soft velvet of her tongue against his.

“I’d like to see you regularly.” _Daily. All day long._ “But if you don’t want that, that’s okay, too.” _It_ _’s not okay. Please don’t choose that one._ “So it’s whatever you want it to be.” _There, it_ _’s your choice now._

Her smile was adorable, or at least it was before she ducked her head to hide it. “We could see each other regularly?” she ventured. “Maybe once a week?”

He nodded, trying not to grin at the picture she made, so endearingly bashful. He prayed he had the patience to coax her along until she could trust him. “And since I can never tell when I’ll be kept late at work on Fridays, how about Saturdays?”

“That sounds… good.” She looked back up, blinking those big eyes at him. “Which Saturdays?”

He blinked back. “…all of them?” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Unless you have other pressing plans that night? It would be convenient to have a regular date set up, don’t you think? Something we could plan around?”

He didn’t care about convenience. He wanted the surety of knowing he’d locked her in before anyone else could. _This one_ , something proclaimed jealously within him _, is_ _mine_.

If she had plans with him, she couldn’t make them with all the other men who came sniffing around, and he intended to keep her as busy as possible. Not just with sex, though that was a priority, but… he also wanted to go places, do things, with her: she was fit, he bet she’d be a demon at swimming and biking and hiking. Did she like music and art? They could go to concerts, museums…  

And they could do a lot of it with the twins, too; she’d like to spend time with them as well, wouldn’t she? It could almost be like they were a family. Together. It was all he’d ever wanted, and longing for it pierced him to the core. He had to struggle to keep his face neutral and his breath steady.

_It_ _’s so close. It’s all within grasp._ He had to tread carefully. He couldn’t risk losing her, not again.

Brienne nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea,” she allowed. “And if one of us has to cancel, or… or if one of us wants to stop altogether, for whatever reason… there will be no hard feelings, okay?”

He stared at her. She looked so concerned, so earnest, and of course she did. She was a good person. She didn’t want to hurt him when she decided she was through. He shoved back a tendril of anger. She kept a part of herself hidden, had built barricades around her heart, fearful of anyone getting through to hurt her. Understandable, after what she’d told him about the shitheads who’d treated her poorly in the past.

It just meant he’d have to batter his way past that fortress with even more determination than he’d thought.

“What about Tarquin?” he said, instead of answering her question. “Will you still be seeing him, too?” The idea made him want to put his fist through a wall. Or, preferably, that ginger menace’s head through a wall.

“Tarquin?” There was confusion on her face, and then it cleared away. “Oh, _Tormund_!” She gave a little laugh. “No, I… I broke up with him.”

“Is that right?” Jaime drawled teasingly, knowing he sounded smug but unable to help it. He turned to his side, head propped on his hand. “When was this?”

She turned pink and rolled to her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Not long ago. A few days.”

Jaime stared at her, wanting more details than that, but she remained silent. He began poking her, first in the hip, then the side, then the shoulder. She rolled her head to the side, facing him, her expression one of weary pique.

“Can you not?” she asked, sounding exasperated. “That’s all you’re getting.”

He just grinned. She’d broken up with that asshole because of Jaime. He just knew it.

“I wouldn’t do anything with you if I were dating someone else,” she continued, more quietly. “And…” She paused, biting her lip. “And I’d like you to promise that if you decide to date someone else, you’ll tell me, and we’ll end… whatever this is. I don’t want to be somebody on the side.”

His grin softened as he gazed at her. For all that she appeared to want to keep distance between them, to relegate whatever they had to there merely physical, she wanted the same thing he did: something real, and meaningful, and exclusive. “I guarantee that if I begin to date anyone, you’ll be the first to know.” _Since it will be you_.

“Thanks.” Brienne smiled back. “And on that note…” She sat up and raked her hair out of her eyes so she could look at the clock. “Half-past six. I should get going.”

“What? Now? Why?” Jaime sat up, too, and watched with dismay as she tugged the sheet free and wrapped it around herself before leaving the room.

She came back with her massive tote bag, flicking on the overhead light and squinting into the glare. “I can’t be here when the children wake up.” She disappeared inside the bathroom.

He waited until he heard the toilet flush, then barged in, finding her just starting to brush her teeth. “Why not?”

She scowled at him around her toothbrush, and took her time finishing up before replying while he leaned against the wall, nude, arms folded, watching her.

“Because they’re very young and I don’t want to confuse them,” she replied at last, then shooed him out and shut the door. When she came out again, she was dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

“Confuse them how?” Jaime took out a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. “Did you bring a change of clothes, wench?” He grinned at the implication. “You knew this might happen.”

Brienne blushed and averted her eyes. “Suspected it might, wanted to be prepared,” she mumbled, and fled for the living room.

Jaime followed her out. “Confuse them how?” He was not about to be distracted.

She stepped into her shoes and shouldered her tote bag. It seemed to take great effort for her to lift those beautiful cerulean eyes to look at him. “You don’t think it would seem odd to them, waking up to a woman in their home? In their father’s bed?” She paused. “Unless you have lady friends over all the time and this is something they’re already used to?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Never.”

“Well, there you go,” she said comfortably, the matter seemingly settled for her. She looked down again. Jaime found her shyness impossibly enchanting, and mentally kicked himself for being such a sap. “So… I’ll see you again… next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday? Not tonight?” _Don_ _’t go. Stay all day. Come to bed with me again tonight._

“Ah, I think… I think I need some time to process all of this, Jaime,” she told him softly, apologetically. “This might be something you’re used to, taking a lover, but I haven’t— you’re the— I’m not used to it.”

“I’m not, either. I won’t lie and say I haven’t been with anyone since Cersei died, but there haven’t been many, and I haven’t been with any of them more than once.” He stopped for a beat, then decided to forge on. “You’re the first one I’ve ever wanted to be with more than once.” _The only one._

Something softened in her face, at that, some tension loosening, and she gave him a little smile. Jaime couldn’t resist tugging her into another embrace, his lips finding hers automatically. The kiss was sweet, slow, languid, and only ended when he heard the pitter-patter of little feet at the far end of the hallway.

Brienne pulled away. “They’re up,” she whispered. “That’s my cue.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” he tried one last time. “At least for breakfast. I flip a mean pancake.”

“Not this time,” she said, and with a last peck on the mouth, she slipped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She looked back up to find her neighbor staring at her, and blushed. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I can get carried away.”
> 
> His mouth tipped up at the corners. “I can see that. But it’s fine. We all have to be passionate about something.”
> 
> _What are you passionate about?_ was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she couldn’t quite muster up the courage. Besides, it would have sounded… odd. Like she was flirting with him. And she wouldn’t have been.
> 
> Well, not _much._


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your lovely comments, I'm so happy you like the nice smut as much as the gutterbutt stuff :P

.

~*~

.

Brienne wasn’t sure how she made it home, so dreamily oblivious was she during the trip from Jaime’s apartment building. She had a vague recollection of a subway, and then perhaps a bus? All she knew was that she arrived safely at her row house in Flea Bottom just as the sun had finished rising, turning the entire world into a golden blaze that matched her euphoric mood.

Perriane seemed unforgiving, looking at Brienne in haughty disdain as if her owner were no more than a servant who had abandoned her master. The cat sauntered away with a flounce of her feathery plume of a tail to sit by her half-full food bowl, looking at Brienne as if she’d been left on the verge of starvation. Brienne’s elation faded, listening to Perriane’s indignant yowl.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Brienne muttered as she poured more Pussy Nibblez™ into Perriane’s bowl. Then she opened a can of wet food in hopes of placating the cat into leaving her alone for at least a few hours. Brienne was exhausted and dying for some uninterrupted sleep, having enjoyed little of it that night because she was enjoying something else, instead.

_Jaime_. It sounded like a sigh even when she only thought it. If she’d thought him magnificent before, back in the Westerlands, he was even moreso here in King’s Landing. Was it because she had some familiarity of him, of his glorious body, of his superb lovemaking skills, now? Or perhaps it was because of his growing familiarity with her and what she liked. His intuition when it came to pleasuring her was uncanny.

How many times had the thought or impulse for something started in her head, not even fully realized by her, and then he was doing it, without her having to say a single word? He knew instinctively where to put his hands and mouth, and how, the force of his touch never too much or not enough.

Brienne swallowed heavily as she went upstairs, shedding clothes along the way, and twisted the shower taps. She could smell him on her still, a mouth-watering combination of clean sweat and spicy cologne and the lust that had so thickly perfumed his bedroom as they fucked again and again. She lifted a foot, intent on stepping into the bathtub, and then lowered it again, turning off the water. She wasn’t quite ready to lose the scent of him yet.

Instead, she stretched out in bed still naked, enjoying the feel of the cool sheets against her over-sensitized skin. She curled her arms around the other pillow, holding it close to her chest, and just floated, awash in the memories she’d just made. Even if this whatever-it-was with Jaime went nowhere, even if it ended tomorrow, he had given her a precious gift: she’d never thought she would be able to enjoy the experience of being desired, truly and wholly; that she’d be able to share her body with someone who clearly appreciated it.

She’d never thought she’d ever be welcome to enjoy a man, and encouraged to do with him what she would, but Jaime was more than happy to lay back and let her explore however she liked. Any suspicions she’d might have had of him being vain were gone; he treated his face and body as tools for her satisfaction more than anything else, his pride only in what he was able to accomplish with them in service to her pleasure.

Brienne was going to have to tread lightly. Jaime’s heartfelt appreciation was wonderful, was a delight, was a healing balm on her wounded self-esteem after so many years of loathing by herself and others, but she could not trust it would last. She could not depend on it to endure. It was going to be hard enough when it ended; if she came to rely on it… oh, when it was over, her usual loneliness would be thrown into even more relief. How could she go back to her solitary life, now that she knew what it was like to be wanted, to feel such joy?

She had some thinking to do. It was good she had insisted on a week apart. She would need the time to consider whether or not she could afford to risk her heart, because she knew— she _knew_ — that the more time she spent with Jaime, she would fall in love with him. If she were honest, she was already at least halfway there already.

And it wasn’t just him, it was his children, as well. She already cared for them. If she came to love Tommen and Myrcy, too… when it was over, she’d be losing them as well. The very idea of it tore at her.

_This is a terrible idea._

_But you_ _’re going to do it anyway._

_I can_ _’t love him._

_You already do._

_I_ _ can _ _ ’t _ _._

_It_ _’s too late._

_I shouldn_ _’t see him again._

_And yet you will._

_I should save myself while I still can._

_It_ _’s too late._

On and on and on it went, her contradicting herself in her thoughts, and by the time she fell asleep, she still hadn’t come to any sort of conclusion about how to proceed.

.

~*~

.

Half of Brienne was pleased, by Wednesday of that week, that Jaime had not made any attempts to contact her. She had asked him for time to herself, after all, to ponder how to proceed with the whatever-it-was they had.

The other half was sorely disappointed and a little resentful for depriving herself of his company, or at the very least, of the rich baritone of his voice over the phone and the naughty texts she was 100% positive he would send her.

On the up side, the urge to develop languishing romantic tragedies— all her muse had felt up to devising since returning from the Westerlands— was mostly gone, and she was back to writing about murder and mayhem. She was now well into The Grilling Season’s second draft and anticipating starting the third in a week, if all went as planned. She should be able to submit a final draft by the end of the month and knew Sansa and Olenna would be thrilled to have it over with so she could get started on Prime Cut, though now that things had worked out with Jaime, she didn’t have the same enmity motivating her as had happened with her other books’ antagonists.

Perhaps instead of a cowboy on a ranch, it could be a concierge at a five-star hotel… or a chef? A chef could be good, there could be rivalry between him and her mystery-solving heroine, who could be considered a suspect herself…

Brienne slumped in a chair by the window with Perriane asleep on her lap, staring blankly at life in Flea Bottom outside as she contemplated the best route to take, when her phone rang. She stared at the unfamiliar number on the screen. Not in the habit of taking calls from strangers— _damned telemarketers_ — she let it ring until it stopped, and put the phone back down on her desk, intent on returning to brooding some more.

But then it rang again, from the same strange number, and a little ripple of unease slid up her back. _What the hell, why not?_ she thought. She could survive a telemarketer if she had to, and touched ‘accept’.

“Is this Brienne Tarth?” asked a young man, and she sighed, perching on the chair once more.

“Who’s asking?”

“This is Peck. Josmyn Peckledon. I’m Jaime’s nanny.” He sounded… not well. She’d only met him the once, of course, but she could hear something ragged and pained about his voice she didn’t like.

Brienne blinked and sat up ramrod straight. “Yes, Peck. How do you have my number?”

“Jaime gave it to me as an emergency contact for the twins,” Peck replied.

_Emergency contact?_ Bypassing the ???????? aspect of why Jaime would do such a thing…

“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Are they hurt?”

“No, _I_ am,” said Peck, with a pained laugh. “I was playing tag with them in the park and tripped over a rock and, uh, impaled myself on a stick.”

“Impaled yourself,” Brienne repeated flatly. “On a stick.”

“Well, uh,” he said, sounding pained and embarrassed. “Just my leg. But I can’t get the stick back out again. And it’s kind of… bleeding a lot. I called for an ambulance but I can’t bring the twins with me to the hospital.”

“Of course not, of course not,” she murmured, mind already whirling. “And you’ve called Jaime?”

“He’s not answering. And I tried Pia, my girlfriend-- she’s Jaime’s assistant-- but she didn’t answer, either. Probably in a meeting. I know his father won’t let anyone bring phones into meetings, it’s a thing with him.”

“Okay,” Brienne said decisively. This was beyond weird, and she’d have to have a talk with Jaime about setting up better emergency contacts for the future, but action was needed. “Where are you? I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m in Flea Bottom, so it could take a little while.”

“King’s Gate Park,” he said. It sounded like he was gritting his teeth. “I’ll try to delay them from taking me away as much as I can, but hurry.”

She was already in her shoes with her bag on her shoulder. “I’m already out the door,” she told him, slamming it behind her. After a weak thank-you, Peck hung up, and Brienne got in the first cab she could find. As soon as it lurched into action, she began trying to contact Jaime, but every call went directly to voice mail, and every text went unanswered.

Peck phoned after ten minutes, to inquire about her location, but it was late in the day and rush-hour traffic was bad. They hadn’t even reached King’s Square yet.

“The ambulance is here. They want to bring me to the hospital. And—” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “—the goldcloaks want CPS to take the twins, since they can’t come with me and can’t be left unsupervised.”

Alarm squeezed at Brienne’s lungs. “ _No_ ,” she said. “You cannot let Child Protective Services have them. Jaime will kill everyone in the world.”

Peck wheezed out a pained-sounding laugh. “He really would. Okay, I’ll try to stall them but, uh, I’ve lost a lot of blood and there’s only so much they can do to keep me stabilized.”

“How are the twins doing? Are they scared?” she asked, worried about how Myrcella and Tommen were coping. “And you… just hang on, okay?”

“They were scared at first, now they’re just worried about me.” He was sounding weaker with every word. “I’ll be okay, as soon as I’m at the hospital.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m so sorry, Peck. Just… rest.”

But traffic through town was excruciatingly slow, and Brienne couldn’t stifle her impulse to find a faster way to get there. At King’s Square, she flung a handful of cash at the driver before extracting herself from the taxi to bolt down the street toward the closest subway entrance. She managed to leap aboard a Q just before it pulled away and shivered when its air conditioning chilled the sweat she had worked up during her run.

Peck phoned again. “The EMTs won’t wait any longer. But I talked the goldcloaks into waiting here another 10 minutes here with the twins.”

_Oh, gods._ “Alright,” Brienne said tightly. “I’ll be there.” _Somehow_.

She was the first off the subway when the doors opened and used her long legs to best advantage, taking the stairs to street level three at a time. Bursting out at the top, she took a moment to orient herself, because she wasn’t used to this part of KL.

_There_. She saw a fringe of green at the far end of the King’s Gate— the park— and started running. If she hadn’t been in such a near-panicked hurry, she’d have been amused at the expressions on the faces of people facing her: the spectacle of a woman her size steadily plowing through the foot traffic must have been quite a sight.

By the time her seven-block-long sprint had ended and she was almost at the park, she had shin splints from running on pavement and her lungs were burning from exertion but she saw the twins sitting on a bench to either side of a paunchy, grizzled goldcloak and the fist around her heart eased a little.

“Briemme!” they shrieked when she lurched into view, and deserted the goldcloak to hurl themselves at her. She swept them into her arms and buried her face against their golden curls in relief, staggering under their weight to collapse onto the bench beside the cop.

She looked over the children to assure herself they were well. To her dismay, there was blood on their clothes and hands, and Myrcy had a streak of it on her cheek.

“Were they hurt, too?” she demanded, hands scrabbling over them to find where they were wounded.

“Nah, that’s the nanny’s,” said the goldcloak. “They’re sweet little things, tried to help him the best they could, but…”

“Peck has a stick in his leg!” Myrcy informed her. “He yelled really loud!”

“There was blood _everywhere_!” Tommen said it with relish, the little ghoul, eyes wide with delight. But then he drooped and added, “It hurted, though.” His big eyes got teary at the thought of it. Then, “It’s a really _big_ stick!” Clearly, he was veering wildly between delight and compassion and couldn’t choose which was the more compelling emotion.

“We’ve been here _forever_ , and it’s past snack time, and we’re hungry and firsty,” Myrcy concluded.

“You the girlfriend the nanny said was coming?” the goldcloak asked while the children continued to enthuse about the day’s excitement.

“Um. Yes,” she replied uneasily, not wanting to lie but scared to risk the goldcloak taking the twins away.

“She’s Briemme!” Tommen said helpfully.

The goldcloak scrutinized her for a moment. “Can I see some ID?”

She dug into her bag for her wallet, extracted her identification, and handed it over. He ran his flinty gaze between it and Brienne’s face. “This your current address?”

“Yes.”

He used his phone to snap a shot of her ID, then handed it back. “Gimme a minute to run your license.” Then he wandered away to talk to dispatch in private.

Brienne spent the time digging wet wipes from her bag and trying to make the twins look less like they’d narrowly survived an interlude with a Bolton. Then she unearthed a water bottle and a long-forgotten granola bar, letting them drink and eat enough to hold them over until she could get them home.

And it would have to be _her_ home, because she kept trying to get Jaime on the phone, without luck, and she had no key to his co-op.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” said the cop, ambling back over to them. “Best of luck.” And he strolled off down the street.

_That was anti-climactic_. Brienne let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and looked down at the small faces peering up at her.

“Well,” she said, “who wants to meet my cat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet time!
> 
> .  
> ~*~  
> .
> 
> “They like you,” she said simply, unable to keep from smiling.
> 
> “But _why_?” His confusion was adorable; why was he so surprised that animals would be attracted to him? 
> 
> “They can tell when someone is a good soul,” Brienne replied. “They know you’d never hurt them.”
> 
> But instead of pleased with a compliment, he only looked more baffled. “I’m— a good soul? That’s…” He just shook his head. “I _could_ hurt them. They can’t possibly know I wouldn’t.”
> 
> But even as he asked it, he stooped down to pick up Juanita, cradling her in one arm and Bruce in the crook of the other, and gave her some eye contact. The tiny pig oinked flirtatiously at him, and Brienne laughed: even porcine girls were not immune to him.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy you all enjoyed "Brienne to the rescue". Here's Jaime's reaction to the excitement, hope you like it!
> 
> And don't forget the snippet at the end :)

.

~*~

.

By the time the OB permitted everyone to escape his clutches— i.e. he took pity on their desperate boredom and ended the meeting— Jaime had just about given up on life. It was after seven o’clock and he grimaced, knowing that the twins would be asleep by the time he got home. As he and Pia returned to their department when the misery was finally, blessedly over, he mentally added a few hundred dollars to Peck’s next paycheck for the inconvenience he was always causing his poor nanny.

The only thing that kept him going was the thought that the day was almost over, and he was one more day closer to seeing Brienne again. One day closer to teasing her, making her blush, kissing her… and more. The memory of her uninhibited response the previous Friday was permanently seared into his brain. She was like a volcano— all pretending to be an unassuming regular mountain, but then...

“Your phones have been blowing up,” commented one of the data entry pool whose cubicle was near Pia’s desk right outside Jaime’s office.

They frowned; both of them had been in demand at the same time? They came to the same realization at once: “Peck,” Pia gasped, and snatched at her phone, while Jaime bolted into his office for his.

Twenty-six phone calls and thirty-three text messages, all missed, the first half of them from Peck, and the last half from Brienne. He looked at a few of the text messages, but they were all some variation on the theme of _call me immediately_.

His heart squeezing, hands trembling, he hit “call back” on Brienne’s last attempt, already in a half-jog toward the elevator, Pia not far behind, her own phone to her ear.

“What happened?” he barked at Brienne the moment she picked up.

“They’re fine,” she said quickly. “They’re fine, I’ve got them at my place. They’re fine.”

“Oh my god, Peck,” Pia gasped beside him. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and they practically leaped inside, stabbing at the ground-level button.

“Peck was hurt while they were at the park. He couldn’t get in touch with you, so he called me. I went there, got them, and now they’re here with me.” Brienne paused, and he realized he was panting into the phone. She continued, very gently, “Everything’s okay, Jaime. Don’t worry. Calm down. It’s okay.”

He leaned back against the elevator wall, the rush of relief leaving him shockingly weak. “Okay,” he repeated. “Text me your address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Take the subway,” she advised. “The traffic is a disaster tonight.”

Jaime and Pia parted ways in the lobby, she to go to the hospital to be with Peck and with promises to update him to his nanny’s condition, he to the nearest subway terminal.

By the time he climbed up to the street level in Flea Bottom, his pulse and breathing had returned to normal. He had heard from Pia that Peck was stabilized and expected to be discharged the following day. He told Pia to have Peck forward him all the bills for treatment, feeling it was the least he could do, and didn’t feel too guilty after that about contemplating what activities might be possible with Brienne that evening.

He’d wanted to contact her, to see her again, every day since the night she’d spent with him, after babysitting. Had endured sudden, persistent cravings for her at odd times of the day, to the point where he had become wary of springing an erection in the middle of a meeting or while waiting in line for coffee. He realized, after a while, that he was thinking of her in non-sexual ways, too— wondering whether she’d find his father just as pompous and absurd as he did, or which muffin she’d choose to go with her tea. He imagined she’d order one of those bran zucchini health muffins, while secretly longing for blueberry. He’d get her the blueberry. She deserved it.

Jaime was no fool, regardless of how poorly he’d made a few essential life choices in the past. He knew he was infatuated with Brienne, had been since two days into her stay at Brightroar Farm, in fact, and it was only deepening every time he saw her again. He also knew that she’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t even slightly interested in anything more with him than the occasional brain-melting episode of sex.

He could work with that.

He wouldn’t be best pleased, but… gods, the _sex_. His dick had never been so happy, not even with Cersei. _Perhaps_ _especially_ _not with Cersei_ , some traitorous part of him whispered, and though it made him feel guilty, he knew it was true: sex with his wife had been more of a compulsion than a pleasure, its value more in the satisfaction he felt at pleasing Cersei than anything he himself got from it. His needs had always been subservient to hers, and many had been the time that she had pushed him away after he’d brought her, done with him and uncaring that he’d either remain blue-balled or have to jerk himself off if he wanted to come.

It was a refreshing change to be so fervently desired, too. To Cersei, he’d always been more like property, or a pet, than a man or her husband. But Brienne’s lust for Jaime was evident in the way she touched him, looked at him, reacted to him, and that lust was like a feedback loop, doubled and redoubled as it passed from her to him and back again. By the time he reached her brownstone, he was already half hard and trying to suppress a rueful grin at his own expense.

Brienne was a little breathless when she swung open the door in response to his knock. “Hi.”

She stepped aside to let him in. He entered and looked around; it was cool from the air-conditioning, and the walls were painted a watery pale blue-green that felt much fresher than the ubiquitous red-and-gold at Lannister Financial or the plain white of his walls at home since he couldn’t be bothered to get them painted an actual color.

With lamps throwing warm pools of light, and music playing softly in the background, it was an absolute haven and Jaime felt all the tension of the day, both work-related and the worse scare about the children and Peck, slip away.

“How is everything? The twins are okay?” he asked.

“They’re upstairs, asleep,” she told him.

“I have to see them.” He needed proof of it, with his own eyes, that they were well.

She led him up to a bedroom turned into an office, where two big armchairs had been pushed together at their fronts to form a cozy nest from which the twins couldn’t fall out. Brienne had covered them with a blanket but Myrcy had, as always, kicked it off. Their golden curls were still slightly damp and their cheeks were pink. They looked healthy and happy. He noticed they were wearing unfamiliar pajamas.

“My neighbors have a daughter,” she explained softly, noticing his frown as he trailed fingertips over the bunny-printed cotton Tommen wore. “They’ve kept all her old clothes, so I asked them to lend me some things to sleep in and wear tomorrow.” She paused. “I tried to wash their clothes from today, but I couldn’t get the blood out.”

His eyes flew to her, but she hurried to reassure him, her hand gentle on his forearm.

“Peck’s blood, not theirs. They’re perfect, not a thing wrong at all.” Brienne tugged the blanket back over them. “C’mon,” she said, “you must be hungry.”

He leaned down to kiss them, as always. “Love you,” he whispered to each, and then followed her downstairs. His body realized it was alright to pay attention to his own needs now and his stomach roared. She gave a quiet laugh.

“So after we got here,” she began to recount, dishing up some lasagna for him, “I gave them a bath. Like I said, I tried to wash their clothes but…” She shrugged. “So I phoned Davos and Stannis and they came right over with a box of Shireen’s old things and this.” She gestured to the lasagna. “They watched the twins play with Perriane while I showered, too— I was a mess after that run—”

“Perriane?” Jaime interrupted. “Run?”

“My cat.” She pointed the spatula at a big gray-and-white puff of fur curled in a basket under a table, visible through the archway into the living room. The cat lifted its head and fixed a baleful eye on Jaime before going back to sleep. “I had to run from the subway stop to the park to get there before CPS did.” She grinned. “I beat my personal best time for the mile.” Then she drew up a knee and rubbed her shin with her free hand. “Gonna be paying for it for a few days, though.” She reached for a bottle and some glasses. “Wine?”

Jaime blinked, speechless at how much she’d done for him— for his little family— but she didn’t notice, busy pouring wine and portioning out servings of salad before bringing the plates to the table.

“I waited for you,” she told him as she sat across from him, smiling in that shy way she had when she felt she was being a bit reckless. “So you didn’t feel lonely as you ate.”

His infatuation took a big leap, at that moment, and he swallowed hard. _This one, dammit!_

When she realized he wasn’t eating, hadn’t even touched his fork, and instead was just staring at her, she sat up a bit straighter and stared back, her eyes huge and mesmerizing.

“What’s— did I do something wrong?” she asked, apprehension stealing over her features, but he laid his hand over hers, curling his fingers around her fingers and squeezing.

“Thank you,” Jaime told her, and there was no teasing or humor in it. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, this time not letting her pull away when she tried. “You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

She blushed. “It’s— I’m— you’re welcome,” she finished lamely, and averted her gaze to her plate. She tried to take back her hand, but he held it fast. “I was a little weirded out to learn you’d told Peck I was an emergency contact, but glad I could help.” She looked back up at him. “I’d do anything to protect Tommen and Myrcy.”

“I know,” Jaime replied. “That’s why I gave him your number.”

“I appreciate that you trust me that much,” she said, “but maybe you should have… asked me, first?”

“I meant to.” He released her hand at last and began to tuck into his meal. It was delicious, and not only because he was starving. The neighbors knew how to cook a lasagna, that was for sure. “But you ran out of my place like your ass was on fire and I didn’t have a chance. And I didn’t want to bother you after you said you wanted space, so…”

“It’s fine,” she said after a moment. “It all worked out well, in the end.” She took another bite, then a sip of wine, studying him over the rim of her glass. “You look tired.”

“I _am_ tired.” He sighed. “My father is still punishing me for helping Tyrion at the ranch by keeping me late, and forcing short deadlines on everything. By the time I get home, I’m so exhausted I barely manage to take a shower, eat something, and fall into bed.” He shot her an amused glance. “The twins weren’t far off when they said they have to jump on the bed to wake me up. Some mornings, it’s all I can do to heave myself up and get started on the day.”

Jaime paused, not sure why he’d revealed so much to her, and covered his discomfort by shoveling in some salad. He didn’t like admitting to weaknesses such as fatigue. Revealing a soft underbelly would get you nothing but castigated, in his family.

But instead of contempt, he saw only concern in Brienne’s magnificent eyes when he chanced a glance in her direction.

“You should…” she began, then blushed, ducking her head like she was about to push herself to be brave. It intrigued him; what daring thing was she going to attempt? “You could stay here tonight. If you want to. I have a spare room— I’d have put the twins in it, but they fell asleep in the chairs. You don’t want to go moving them anyway, and you’d probably fall asleep on the way home, and—”

“Can’t have that,” he interrupted, but gently, not betraying the relief he felt at not having to wrestle two sleepy toddlers across the city and his hope that her offer of ‘staying there tonight’ might include something more exciting than just sleeping. “Spare room?”

She blushed harder and took another sip of wine. “I don’t want you think anything is expected. If you’re tired, or not in the mood, or—”

“I’m always in the mood for you.” He took her hand again, this time turning her palm to him, and placed a kiss right in the center before sliding it to cup his cheek. Once again, she tried to pull away, and once again, he would not let her, maintaining an electric eye contact with her that had him half-erect again in seconds.

But after they’d finished eating, and the wine caught up with him, he drowsily let her lead him upstairs, laughing at him the whole way.

“Do you want a shower?” Brienne pointed to the bathroom.

He paused, his muzzy brain torn between weariness and the prospect of being nice and clean with her. “A quick one,” he agreed, and in short order found himself standing in her clawfoot tub with hot water cascading down over him. She bustled around in the bathroom while he gave himself a quick wash, and when he stepped out a few minutes later he found a stack of towels on the closed toilet seat and a new toothbrush by the sink.

When he came out, releasing a billow of steam, she slipped past him to do her own thing in the bathroom. There was a neatly-folded pair of sweatpants on the bed, but he just put them on a nearby chair before using a towel to scrub as much water from his hair as possible and crawling between the sheets. He was already halfway to dreamland when she joined him, but still had enough presence of mind to turn and reach for her.

Brienne went into his arms as easily as if she’d done it for years, her tall body fitting against his like she’d been custom-built just for him, and maybe she had been. Could it be mere coincidence, how compatible they were? Physically, at least. Their track record for non-physical interactions was… not what it could be, and Jaime had to own the blame for the bulk of it, but it had gotten better, especially in recent days.

Her palms sliding over his back were probably meant to be comforting, restful, but the innocent touches inflamed him as much as a firm grip on his dick would have, and he pressed his lips to her neck, his own hands wandering down to her ass to give it a fond squeeze. He pulled her closer and let her feel his hard cock through the soft cotton of her nightshirt.

“Why’d you bother wearing this?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice. “You had to know it wouldn’t stay on long.”

He relished how her breath caught at his words.

“Well,” she said with a low laugh, “I didn’t want you to feel like I was expecting anything if you were too tired.”

Again, Jaime was reminded of Cersei. If she’d been in the mood, his tiredness would not have mattered in the slightest. Once, he’d even fallen asleep between her legs, his head pillowed on her thigh, and she’d been frosty to him for days in retaliation.

“I don’t think I could ever be too tired for you,” he said, and truly meant it. There wasn’t a situation he could conceive of where he’d choose sleep over having sex with her.

They made love quickly, because they _were_ both tired, but it lacked nothing in sensation or fullness of pleasure, for all that, and when they fell asleep afterward, he felt sated and replete.

The next morning, Jaime awoke at daybreak as always. He usually spent the time thinking about the upcoming day and waiting for the twins to come jump on the bed to ‘wake him up’, but this time he had Brienne with him, warm and soft, her breath comforting against the bare skin of his shoulder. He trailed his fingertips up the long line of her thigh to her hip, then up further to cup her breast and tease her nipple to the same hardness his cock was exhibiting, and it wasn’t long before she was sighing and stretching against him.

“Good morning,” she murmured. Her eyes, slumberous and so very blue, even in the dim light of dawn, were gentle as they traced over his face.

“Morning,” he answered, and leaned forward to kiss her, uncaring about minor things like morning breath. It wasn’t too bad, certainly not enough to make him stop, and soon he didn’t even notice, too distracted by where her hands were going: namely, over his ass and around his cock.

Her laugh was low and husky and made his nerve endings tingle. “Are you going to fuck me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she said with a tiny grin. “I want you to fuck me again, Cowboy Lannister.”

“Jaime,” he corrected, and kissed her, a voluptuous meeting of tongues and lips that made him feel like tweeting birds were flying around his dazed head. “My name is Jaime, wench.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” she sighed into the kiss, her long body undulating against his.

He pulled her leg over his hip, got himself into position, and slid home. He moaned at the feeling of her closing around him, sleek and tight, and was torn between wanting to thrust and just keeping still to enjoy being buried so far within the soft wet clasp of her body.

“Instead of ‘wench’, you might consider calling me ‘Brienne’,” she said against his mouth. “Since that _is_ my name.”

“Brienne.” His kiss turned exploratory as he bit gently into her lips, testing their give, then caressed them with light strokes of his tongue. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew from her and then back in, sheathing himself in her, finding a perfect fit.

It was leisurely, almost peaceful. Jaime rocked in and out of her at a relaxed pace, sharing light, sipping kisses and murmuring his appreciation of her body, her responsiveness. When it came time to speed up, he rolled them so he was on top and groaned at how it felt to be enclosed by her legs when she wrapped them high around his waist, allowing him to slide even deeper in. She arched under him with a lazy roll of her pelvis, the ladder of her ribs rising and slight breasts lifting with the motion.

“So good, Brienne,” he murmured between kisses, between thrusts. “It’s so good.” She trembled to hear it, kissing him harder to shut him up, but he would not be silenced. “You’re incredible. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Jaime,” she breathed, more an exhalation against his skin, into his mouth, than a name. He stared down at her, into her eyes, and felt their gaze almost like a physical impact. Brienne was fully present with him. She wasn’t Cersei, calculating and sharp; she wasn’t one of those few, near-anonymous lovers, more concerned with looking sexy than _being_ sexy, or triumphant for having added the golden Lannister scion to their list of conquests.

He was nearing orgasm, wanted her to come with him, so he set his teeth into her nipples, one after the other, distending them, then soothing with licks and suckles, and soon she was surging beneath him, her throat a graceful bridge between head and chest as she threw back her head and arched. She cried out for him, softly, softly, and the rhythmic waves of her cunt over his embedded cock tore the climax right out of him.

He shuddered again and again, biting his lip to keep quiet, and when the ecstasy receded enough for him to think once more, he was struck by the knowledge that something had irrevocably changed in him. He blearily gazed down at Brienne, at how dear her face had become to him, at how her eyes shone at him like stars, and this time there was no confusion whatsoever when the humming in his head resolved into the words, _this one_.

 _Yes,_ he thought, lowering his head to her shoulder, and pressed his face to her throat. _It_ _’s her. She’s the one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet time!
> 
> * * *
> 
> “Then you’re either as naive as you are—” He halted, there, seeming to grope for a word. Brienne waited placidly for him to decide which variation of ‘ugly’ he would choose. But he finished up with, “tall. Or you’ve succumbed to my myriad physical charms.”
> 
> Batting his gold-tipped eyelashes at her, he gave her a sharp grin that looked like it hurt him more than it could ever hurt her, and she felt suddenly, shockingly bad for him. What the hell had happened to him to make him so… brittle? There’d been a hint of it the day before, when he’d muttered something about… what had it been? ‘Cripples, bastards, and broken things’?
> 
> Whatever he’d been through, it had made a mark on him, had him creating clear ‘keep away’ signs at any hint of encroachment. 
> 
> Too bad for him that Brienne had always blithely ignored those kinds of signs. It was a family trademark; Sandor never let anything like fences or barbed wire— real or figurative— hold him back, either. 
> 
> “The first, undoubtedly,” she therefore said easily. “The second?” She started walking again, slanting him a smile. “No.”
> 
> His grin shifted from that painful-looking razorlike thing to something of more genuine amusement. “You sound pretty sure. How wounding to my ego.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy everyone liked the last chapter, it might be my favorite of all of them. Thank you for reading, and as always, thanks to Mikki (ikkiM) for her superlative betaing.
> 
> OH! And it would be remiss of me to omit mention that the part about the blueberry muffin was ALL Mikki's excellent suggestion. Despite my unquenchable thieving impulses, I feel like credit should go where it's due, and it's due to Mikki, in this case.
> 
> There's another snippet from Man of the Hour at the end :)

.

~*~

.

Brienne couldn’t move, could do nothing more than cling to Jaime, trembling. They’d had passionate sex, they’d had sensual sex, they’d even had comfortable, relaxed sex.

But that, just now, was the first time they had made love, and it scared all the seven hells out of her.

 _What is he playing at?_ she wondered. She’d already concluded that Jaime was a warm and expressive man, that he enjoyed affectionate touching even if it didn’t lead to sex. And it was fine, it wasn’t any indication of grand romance, it was just a person indulging in all the comforts another body could provide. His wife had been dead for three years; he was probably as starved for touch as Brienne herself was. It didn’t _mean_ anything.

Except her heart had not yet received that memo, because it was leaping and throbbing, all excited and getting ahead of itself. It— and the rest of her— loved having dinner with Jaime while the children slept, secure and happy, down the hall. Loved falling asleep and waking up in his arms. Loved the ease with which they had had sex, turning to each other so naturally. Loved the prospect of another day with him.

Loved _him_.

_Oh, gods, no._

_It_ _’s too soon._

 _It_ _’s impossible._

_It will end badly._

Jaime shifted off of her, moving only far enough away to keep from crushing her, but keeping his arms around her and their legs twined like a bramble. Brienne kept her eyes shut, not able to endure the sight of his face so close to her own, how his green eyes glowed with what she so desperately wanted to believe was love, but knew could only be satisfaction.

Tears pooled under her eyelids and she forced herself to be still, terrified that any motion would cause them to spill. He would insist on knowing why she was crying, and the idea of either trying to find a reason for it or admitting the truth horrified her. Instead, she just buried her face against his neck, inhaling the potent male scent of him that never failed to weaken her knees.

She couldn’t figure out a way to disentangle herself from him without betraying her unruly thoughts on her face. No matter how Brienne tried to keep it blank and stoic, it always revealed every emotion felt by her stupid, reckless heart.

“Where’s my phone?” he said after a while, and stretched backward to fumble for his cell on the bedside table. “Gonna take the day off work.”

“Won’t that piss your father off even more?” she asked, concerned.

“Probably,” he replied. After tapping in a message, then tossing the phone back onto the table, he snuggled deeper against her. “Hopefully. Maybe he’ll fire me. I keep hoping he will.”

She would never even come close to understanding the fucked-up dynamics of the Lannister family.

“And the twins will be awake soon,” Jaime murmured into her ear, then tugged the lobe with his teeth. Her breath caught, and he gave a low chuckle before drawing away with clear regret. “I should make a preemptive strike and go wake them up before they find us here.”

She mumbled something that hopefully sounded like agreement, and he released her to roll away, peeling off the covers and fumbling for the sweatpants she’d left him the night before. Brienne sat up and reached for the nightshirt he’d divested her of, holding it in front of her body as she got out of bed and passed him on the way to the bathroom, intent on a shower. Jaime laughed and swiped the garment from her hands.

“Still shy? After everything?”

Brienne shot him a glare but he only grinned back beatifically and actually gave her a light swat on the ass. She yelped and scampered away, making him laugh harder.

Once she was in the shower, her doubts— only ever just held at bay, never eliminated— rushed back, and she let her tears fall.

She had a decision to make.

She could break things off with Jaime soon— today— _now_ — and thus nip her love for him in the bud. Keep it from blooming fully, keep at least some semblance of an intact heart. It would hurt Brienne, and anger him, and was the smartest move she could make, if her priority were to protect herself.

Another option, and the least realistic, was to fling herself into the whatever-this-was in hopes that, miraculously, somehow, Jaime would actually want to build a real relationship with her. As she soaped herself up, Brienne permitted herself a single, ecstatic moment to imagine what it could be like, if he were truly hers.

Spending time with him every day, being an integrated part of his and the twins’ lives. She couldn’t help a brief flash of what it might be like as his girlfriend, or even wife, having the twins consider her their mother, maybe having more children with him. It hurt too much to examine for more than a split second, rather like trying to take a glimpse of the sun and flinching away at the pain it caused. Sucking in a shuddery breath, she forced herself to stop thinking about it.

Or… she could take this train to the very last stop. She could commit to nothing more than an ongoing sexual affair with no set end date, no expectations, no promises beyond the next week. If they continued to get together, that was fine, and if he never called her again, that would be fine, too.

Okay, no, it would devastate her. But at least she’d have a treasure trove of incredible memories to keep her company the rest of her solitary life.

The only thing that concerned her, with this last option, was the twins. They already liked her, and if she continued to spend time with them, they’d come to care for her. When their father decided it was over between them, they would be confused and hurt to never see her again. She’d be hurt, too, but she didn’t matter. Myrcy and Tommen did. They were just children. They wouldn’t understand.

As she stepped out of the shower and began to dry off, she heard Jaime talking to them in the bedroom.

“Daddy, it smells funny,” said Tommen. Brienne realized he meant the scent of sex that permeated the air and felt like dying of embarrassment.

Jaime was silent a long moment before replying, and when he did, his voice was tight, like he was trying desperately to keep from laughing. “Do you think so?” He gave an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t smell a thing.”

“Your nose is broked,” Myrcy informed him matter-of-factly. “It smells stinky.”

“Broken, not broked. Maybe the cat peed somewhere in here,” Jaime suggested. Brienne frowned as she pulled a pair of jeans on over her panties; _how dare he disparage Perriane like that?_

“No, she didn’t!” Tommen told his father, outraged. “She is a very good cat, Daddy. She wouldn’t pee!”

 _You tell him,_ Brienne thought fondly. Oh, there were no good choices, here. With a sigh, she tugged a t-shirt over her head and smoothed it down, then stepped from the bathroom.

“Briemme!” exclaimed Myrcy. She and Tommen rushed to her, each clasping a knee and gazing up at her.

“Huh,” she said, a hand on each curly golden head, “smells like the cat peed in here.” _Sorry, Perriane,_ she mentally projected at her cat. “I’ll have to clean that up right away.”

Her reward was a beaming smile over the twins’ heads from Jaime. She rolled her eyes at him.

“Why don’t you go downstairs and try to put together some breakfast?” she suggested. “I’ll clean up after the cat and be right down.”

‘Cleaning up after the cat’ meaning ‘changing the sheets, opening the windows, and spraying some air freshener’, of course.

With a grin, Jaime herded the children out of the room and she went into action as she heard them descend to the first floor, but no sooner had she opened the windows than Tommen had returned, standing in the doorway, watching her.

“Tommen?”

“I want to help,” he said, his face hopeful. “So we can have a cat, too.”

Brienne stared at him a moment, her heart feeling full enough to burst. _Well, that_ _’s it for me, then,_ she thought helplessly, knowing she was just as hopelessly in love with Jaime’s children as she was with him.

“Um, I—” She had to stop and clear her throat. “I already cleaned up the pee, but you can help with other things?”

He nodded and came closer, doing what he could to help her strip off the old sheets and put new ones on the bed— which wasn’t much, but points for trying— and then Brienne let him give a few judicious spritzes of air freshener in each corner.

“You did well!” she praised him, and he beamed at her before his chubby little face grew serious.

“Briemme, what’s a girlfriend?” he asked. She blinked. Wasn’t he far too young to worry about matter of romance?

“It’s a girl that you like very much and go out on dates with,” she said slowly. “Different than a regular friend. Why, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not me!” he said with a giggle. “Peck called you Daddy’s girlfriend.”

 _Oh, Mother._ “I’m not your father’s girlfriend.” Brienne forced a light laugh. “We’re just… regular friends.”

He stared at her in unblinking confusion.

 _Help._ “A girlfriend is… someone that you kiss. On the mouth,” she clarified, knowing he was going to mention something about cheek kisses. “Because you like each other in a special way.”

He cocked his head to the side, so like Jaime at that moment she wanted to snatch him up and cuddle him. “Daddy kissed you on the mouf.”

 _Oh gods, the twins had seen Jaime kiss her goodbye at the ranch._ Her stomach seized. “Um. We— no, not exactly. We’re… it’s different. It’s not like that. I said it wrong. Sometimes people kiss on the mouth but don’t like each other besides the, uh, kissing.”

Tommen’s little face scrunched in confusion. “You don’t like kissing Daddy?”

“That’s, uh, not the point.” Brienne felt like she was flailing in the dark for the best way to explain what was— or wasn’t— between her and Jaime. “It’s just that it’s…”

 _Fantastic. Splendid. Magnificent. Unforgettable._ She tossed a throw pillow in the direction of where it was supposed to go and sighed as it bounced onto the floor. “Probably a terrible mistake.” She picked up another pillow, intending to toss it at the bed as well, but ended up staring apathetically at it, then muttered gloomily, “This is all a terrible mistake.”

She felt a clasp around her knees and looked down to see Tommen was hugging her legs again, face tilted up and forehead creased in confused concern. “Briemme, you sad?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed, and dropped a hand to his head, stroking his curls. “Or, I will be, eventually.”

A tread on the stairs drew their attention, and they turned to see Jaime just poking his head over the top step.

“Breakfast is ready,” he said before disappearing.

“Myrish toast?” Tommen demanded, abandoning Brienne to scamper after his father. “Myrish toast is my favorite, Daddy!”

Brienne followed at a more dignified pace. When she arrived in the kitchen, it was to find a platter of toast— the regular kind— and another of fried eggs awaiting them. Jaime had found throw pillows for the twins to sit on in lieu of booster seats and was just helping Tommen onto a stack.

“This looks good!” Brienne said, injecting some cheer into her voice as she sat between the twins, across from Jaime. She was struck by how domestic it felt, how familiar, and a pang squeezed her chest. She tried to catch Jaime’s eye, to offer a little smile, but he was busy helping Myrcy cut her egg.

He was too busy helping Tommen butter his toast the next time she tried.

The third time, he wasn’t doing anything but chewing his own breakfast, but he was staring at his plate like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

_Something was wrong._

Brienne took a last bite of toast, but it tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet!
> 
> * * *
> 
> That was also her segue to getting him to mention what he did for a living, and he took the bait beautifully as he led her through the living room to the kitchen.
> 
> “Oh, I work from home,” he said as he began bustling around, extracting containers from the sleek steel fridge. “I turned the second bedroom into an office.”
> 
> “That sounds nice,” Brienne lied, privately thinking it sounded lonely and boring.
> 
> “It’s lonely and boring,” he said in the blunt way she was coming to learn was characteristic. His echoing her thought made her smile.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling out-of-sorts today so no cheery message or snippet, I can't be arsed. Sorry to be a shit. Hopefully will be less of one on Friday.

.

~*~

.

Jaime rootled through Brienne’s refrigerator in search of something that could become breakfast. He found cartons of Pentoshi take-out from a place he’d always wanted to go to, six kinds of jam, something that looked halfway between broccoli and spinach, and in the back, eggs and butter. There was most of a loaf of bread on the counter. He was not a great cook— boasts of pancake-flipping aside— but he could handle that much.

“You’re in charge of toast,” he told Myrcy, and dragged a chair over to the counter before helping her climb up. “Where’s Tommen?”

“He went back upstairs,” she replied, starting to put slices of bread into the toaster oven. “Push here?”

He squinted at the array of buttons on the appliance. “Here,” he guessed, pointing, and she pressed it down. “Don’t touch it until it pops up. And let it cool down before you pull it out.”

“I won’t, Daddy!” Her sweet voice caused that little familiar clutch of love in his chest, and he stopped in the middle of cracking eggs into the hot skillet to drop a kiss on her head.

As he prodded the cooking eggs with the spatula, his mind drifted upstairs, to where Brienne was airing her bedroom of their fuck-fumes, presumably with Tommen. This had been the best morning he could remember in years: he’d woken feeling well-rested, had made relaxed, excellent-quality love with Brienne, and after they shared breakfast, they’d have the entire day together.

He didn’t much care what they did— they could stay here, or go to his apartment, and do nothing but slouch around the place all day, as far as he was concerned. Even if Brienne had to write, he and the twins could watch a movie or two, play with the cat, eat, take naps… he couldn’t recall the last time he had nothing to do but whatever he wanted, weekends usually being eaten up with errands. The prospect was delightful.

When the eggs were done, and Myrcy had toasted all of the bread, he pulled the chair to the sink so she could reach the water. “Wash your hands, I’ll go get Tommen and Brienne,” he told her.

At the food of the stairs, Jaime heard them speaking and paused, wondering what they could be discussing so earnestly.

“Daddy kissed you on the mouf,” Tommen was saying.

Jaime was unable to keep from grinning. _Yes, yes I did,_ he thought. _And a few other places, as well._ He couldn’t wait to hear the flustered response Brienne would likely give.

But when it came, instead of some stammered variation of “when people like each other very much, they kiss on the mouth,” she said, “Um. We— no, not exactly. We’re… it’s different. It’s not like that. I said it wrong. Sometimes people kiss on the mouth but don’t like each other besides the, uh, kissing.”

_Don_ _’t like each other._

It was like a physical blow to the solar plexus. Jaime breathed through it. They weren’t incorrect words, per se; he certainly didn’t _like_ Brienne. It went quite a bit beyond _liking_ , at that point.

And Brienne, apparently, didn’t like him, either. Still. All of this— _all_ of it— was just sex to her. Again, he was reminded unpleasantly of Cersei, kept around because he had his uses but he, himself, were merely incidental. For Cersei, he’d been a dogsbody, and an ornament to show off, and someone to bear the brunt of her anger and weakness and fear. For Brienne, he was good sex, and nothing more, it would seem.

_At least I got something out of the deal this time._ He immediately regretted that thought. After all, Cersei had given him Tommen and Myrcy, even if only to trap him. Brienne would never do that to him. Somehow, that didn’t make it feel any less sordid.

“Probably a terrible mistake,” Brienne was saying by this point. “This is all a terrible mistake.”

_And the hits keep coming._ It took everything Jaime had not to barge into the bedroom, snatch Tommen up, grab Myrcy, and flee Brienne’s home.

But no. Lions did not flee anything. They were the ones causing _others_ to flee.

Jaime forced his legs to climb the stairs just until he could see over the top step to where Tommen had hugged Brienne around the knees and was looking up at her. She was a homely madonna, her big hand gentle on his son’s head, her face sad. Jaime felt his hopes for her, for _them_ , him and her, dry into a husk.

Brienne’s gaze, those rich blue eyes, flew to him. He couldn’t bear them for more than half a second.

“Breakfast is ready,” he said, and returned to the kitchen.

“Myrish toast?” Tommen followed hard on Jaime’s heels, thumping down the stairs. He was always starving in the morning, far more than Myrcy, who always ate the most at lunch. Jaime concentrated on thinking about his children so he didn’t think about Brienne. “Myrish toast is my favorite, Daddy!”

“This week, at least, huh?” Jaime replied, admiring in a detached way how normal his voice sounded. He popped Myrcy onto a pillow-boosted chair, then Tommen, and dished up an egg for each as Brienne joined them.

“This looks good!” she said, sounding so normal, even cheerful, that Jaime found himself unable to even look at her. His shoulders were almost up around his ears, he was so wound up; he forced them down, concentrated on helping the twins with their food, concentrated on his own meal when they didn’t need his assistance.

Brienne tried again when breakfast was over, leading him to the box in the living room with all of the neighbor’s loaned clothing for the twins. “Their clothes can’t be saved, but there are plenty of Shireen’s things here, if you don’t want to go home to change.”

“We have to go home anyway,” said Jaime, selecting outfits for the children. “I can’t wear a suit to the zoo.”

“Zoo?” “Zoo?”

He hadn’t said it loudly, but the twins heard him easily from where Tommen was standing on a chair and Myrcy was handing him silverware to put into the sink.

“I thought we could go to the zoo, if you want,” he told them.

“Heffalumps!” shouted Tommen, causing Perriane, drinking from her water bowl, to scurry from the kitchen in alarm. “Sorry, Perriane!” he called after her, climbing down again.

“They’re _ephalants_ , Tommen,” Myrcy corrected him smugly.

“The zoo sounds fun,” Brienne said tentatively. When Jaime didn’t answer, she continued, “And I finished my book’s first draft, so I can—”

“—start working on the next?” Jaime finished for her. The twins left the kitchen for the living room, and he handed them the clothes. They peeled off their pajamas and began dressing right there. He’d have to talk to them again about ‘places it’s okay to get naked’ and how living rooms weren’t it, but at that moment, he could not have cared less. “That’s the one where you have a dozen people all work together to kill an obnoxious cowboy, isn’t it?”

She flushed a dark, embarrassed pink and looked away from the hard gaze he aimed at her. “I changed my mind about that one,” she said softly. “It’s not going to be a cowboy anymore.”

“Maybe you can make him a stockbroker.” Jaime helped Myrcy get her arms out of her shirt’s neckhole, then assisted Tommen in ensuring there was only one leg per side of his pants.

Brienne flinched, at that, and started to do that shrinking thing that he’d observed when Tormund had appeared— was it only two weeks ago?— and Jaime realized that he’d made her feel ashamed.

In his family, when you lashed out, the other party just lashed out harder. They didn’t internalize it and cringe like a whipped dog, as Brienne was doing. Jaime had forgotten he wasn’t dealing with the casual cruelty of his father or Cersei or even, on occasion, Tyrion. He wasn’t dealing with cruelty at all; she hadn’t hurt him on purpose. She hadn’t done a thing wrong except fail to live up to his expectations.

His puffed-up indignation deflated, and instead all he felt was weariness. “I’m going to get dressed, can you keep an eye on them while I do?” he asked her, consciously trying to gentle his voice.

“Of course,” Brienne replied, her gaze downcast. He stood there a moment longer, wanting to say something to correct what he’d just done, but how? Which words to use?

_Hey, remember what an asshole I was when we first met? I_ _’m still that same asshole and always will be! Please fall in love with me in spite of it._

Jaime trudged upstairs and search for his clothes. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but at some point, Brienne had collected them from where he’d discarded them in a heap on the floor the night before. She had neatly folded everything and placed the tidy stack of garments on a chair in the corner. Even his tie had been carefully coiled into a fat silken roll on top so it wouldn’t crease.

His heart squeezed almost painfully. Jaime sat abruptly on the bed and plunked his head in his hands. Everything about Brienne made him want her more. She was so sweet. She tried so hard. The immensity of her heart only threw into worse comparison how little he deserved her. How little _anyone_ deserved her, he suspected. She was too good for any man, let alone Jaime, with his family issues and quick temper and need to strike back the moment he was hurt.

But she wanted him. Might not love him— might never love him— but she _wanted_ him. It was… something. It wasn’t _nothing_. There was a chance that she could come to love him, one day. She loved his children, that much he could tell for certain. Maybe… maybe she’d stay with him for Myrcy and Tommen? Could that be enough to build a future on? Scorching sexual chemistry, and children? Maybe, if they had some children of their own together one day, she could come to care for him?

Jaime felt a sharp twist in his chest to picture it: a baby with Brienne’s eyes, held in her gentle arms while his big sister and brother hovered to each side…

_I want that,_ he thought.

Then, _I will have that._

Lannisters did not give up on what they wanted just because there were obstacles. Lannisters _thrived_ on obstacles. They crushed them beneath gold-shod hooves before riding in to claim what was theirs.

_Not without a fight_.

He hadn’t given up on her before, when they’d met again, and he wasn’t going to give up now. It was fine if she didn’t love him yet. Women could take longer than men to fall in love, he knew that. He would just wait. As long as she permitted him in her life— unless she broke up with him— he still had a chance.

And… break up with him?

He’d like to see her try.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to upload this on Friday. Sorry about that. Hope you like it!

.

~*~

.

By the time Jaime and the twins took their leave of Brienne’s home, he seemed to have rallied from his distant mood, smiling at her without the pinched tightness around his eyes he had before going to change back into his suit.

He even gave her a dizzyingly thorough kiss in farewell, but still left, insisting they shouldn’t disturb her life any more than they already had the previous day despite her protestations that it wouldn’t be an interruption at all.

“Daddy, come on!” exclaimed Tommen. “Heffalumps!”

“And lions, Daddy! _Lions_!” added Myrcy, punctuating it with a fierce roar.

Jaime’s smile at his children was so loving that Brienne couldn’t resist giving a kiss to him, in a rare example of initiating contact. He was surprised but pleased, if his enthusiastic reception were any indication.

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” he murmured against her lips. “Come over early so there’s plenty of time.”

“For what?” she whispered back, intrigued, but he only glanced at the children, who were staring up at them, clearly listening to every word.

“For everything,” was all he’d say, and it held so much promise of ecstasy that she couldn’t repress a shiver of delight, which of course he noticed and grinned at.

Brienne did see him on that Saturday, and every Saturday thereafter, for the next ten weeks, and every one of those Saturdays was a glorious buffet of sensual pleasure.

Her resolution not to confuse the twins with her sporadic presence only lasted as long as the first time, a few weeks in, that she and Jaime slept late after a particularly energetic night and were woken by giggling twins jumping on the mattress around them. Brienne was very glad she’d pulled on one of Jaime’s t-shirts after their last bout of sex, and eyed his coverage before reaching out to tug the covers more securely over his lap.

“Waffles, Daddy!” Tommen sang out. “They’re my favorite!”

“We’re awake now, little cubs,” Brienne said gently, after Myrcy stepped on her for the third time, and pulled the little girl down onto her lap. “No need to shout.”

Not to be outdone, Tommen scrambled to snug himself into Brienne’s other arm. She squeezed him against her side with a fond smile, then rested her cheek on Myrcy’s golden head. They cuddled against her without a qualm, and she felt that familiar clutch of love for them as always.

Yet as much as she enjoyed the twins’ company, it was her time spent with Jaime that felt the most profound. Their first bouts of the night were usually tinged with urgency; after an entire week apart, they would be near-frantic for each other. Jaime told her that his sofa got more use, during those months, than it had ever seen before, because of their inability to make it past the living room before he was sunk to the base in her.

Bouts later in the evening, however, tended to be slower, lazier; languid explorations of each other’s mental limits as well as bodies. Jaime felt it was a point of pride to discover every spot on her body that excited her. Once found, they were never forgotten.

There was the Saturday he wanted to see if he could make her come just by playing with her nipples.

(Not quite, but very close.)

One Saturday they experimented with tying each other up.

(Both found the restricted range of motion irritating more than exciting, deciding it was better when they both participated.)

Then there was the Saturday they took turns dominating each other.

(Each rather enjoyed that, as long as it didn’t stray into anything humiliating; they’d both had their fill, in the past, of being made to feel worthless.)

Another Saturday, they recreated the time they fucked against the front door, Jaime taking Brienne from behind and hitting her G-spot over and over and over until she collapsed on the bed, limp and unable to move for hours.

(It only made him want to see if he could find her G-spot with his fingers, too.)

The next Saturday, he did just that, and with his tongue, as well.

(After that, he had the bedroom soundproofed.)

That ended up being a good thing, because the following Saturday, Brienne announced her intention to find _his_ G-spot.

(He screamed and came so hard it hit the ceiling, then laughed like a loon while Brienne stood on the bed and tried to sponge-clean it off.)

One Saturday, they tried to spank each other but couldn’t stop giggling and gave up after only a few half-hearted swats at the other’s bottom.

(Though they did enjoy rubbing each others’ asses to take away the sting they’d left.)

Then there was the Saturday committed to trying out weird, adventurous positions.

(Jaime threw his back out and Brienne twisted her knee and they spent the rest of the night hobbling around, fetching each other painkillers and ice packs, rather than fucking. She had enjoyed that night, taking care of each other so solicitously, more than she probably should have.)

As time passed, they spent less time fucking and more time talking. Waking in the middle of the night just as often resulted in long, easy discussions about anything or nothing as it did of more sex. And somehow, without conscious thought, Sunday breakfasts with the twins turned into the entire morning, going to the park or watching a movie.

Worrying about how she was starting to integrate into their lives, when Jaime had suggested she start staying for lunch, too, Brienne had refused. It was becoming too hard for her to wrench herself away from the little Lannister family at the end of the morning. She fretted constantly about the impact their breakup would have on the children, yet was too weak to do anything definitive about it.

There was no way she could resist the seductive lure of such a physically and even emotionally intimate situation, because by the time month three of their sexual arrangement rolled around, Brienne had never felt so _known_ by another person. Against all protective self-interest, she’d discarded layer after layer of hang-ups and fears and apprehensions, had developed a trust and faith in Jaime that was as vast and solid as a mountain.

There was only a single thing left unsaid or unrevealed between them: the matter of love. She was deeply, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him, and grew ever more heartsick as the days passed and she was unable to express it to him. If she let slip to Jaime how he and his children had become her entire world… she was terrified of destroying the fragile arrangement between them. She was fairly certain the humiliation of his rejection just might kill her.

Oh, he’d be gentle about it. Under his careless, sarcastic façade he was a sweet and kind and gentle man, and he wouldn’t want to upset or hurt her. But, _gods_ , seeing his shock and dismay, possibly even revulsion… hearing the strain in his voice as he tried to find the words that would ‘let her down easy’…

 _Maybe he won_ _’t be repulsed,_ suggested Brienne’s persistent hope. _He_ _’s not repulsed by your body, after all._ Seemed to like it, in fact, if the way he was all over her at every opportunity was any indication. _Maybe he won_ _’t be repulsed by your heart_.

But that was just sex. Men could be weird about sex. It was about conquering, with them, and there’d been a tension between she and Jaime since the moment they’d met. She’d provoked him from the very beginning. She had no doubt that this whatever-it-was they had was no more than his male ego working through whatever injury it had suffered by her ongoing defiance. When it had run its course, and her capitulation rendered her boring, when she no longer held any fascination for him, he’d end it.

It wouldn’t be long now, she knew, because in the past week or two she’d begun noticing that his smile seemed tense, his manner less teasing, his words not as easy as usual. And in contrast to the more adventurous things they’d engaged in, he’d preferred their lovemaking— no, _sex_ , it was just sex, she had to remember that— strictly vanilla.

Foreplay: intense and affecting as always, but lacking in the languid sensuality Brienne had become accustomed to with Jaime. Gone were the endless lingering caresses of fingers and tongue, the teasing denial of climax until she almost wept tears of needy frustration and begged him to fuck her.

Position: nothing but missionary, and Jaime would grip her so hard she’d noticed blooms of bruises appearing the next day, five little violet marks in a cluster, vivid against her pale skin. She was developing a perverse fondness for the bruises, as visual proof that whatever-it-was between them actually existed.

The fucking itself: there was far less laughing and fewer silly jokes, and Jaime turned his face away or closed his eyes when he came, hiding himself away from her. Was he thinking of someone else during climax? His wife? Arianne? Worse, had he found someone else to replace her when the inevitable end arrived?

No, it wouldn’t be long at all. This might even be the last Saturday they had together, in fact. Maybe, instead of leaving the decision to Jaime, she should end it herself. It would be easier on both of them if she did. He’d be spared the grim duty of telling her it was over, and she wouldn’t have to endure it, or fight her face muscles to keep from crumpling, or attempt to staunch what was certain to be a tsunami of tears.

And so Brienne stood frozen at Jaime’s door, seized by the same impulse she’d felt upon arriving, almost three months earlier to babysit, to just… flee. To not knock on the door before her, to turn right around and take the elevator back down. To hop on the subway and speed across the city to her cozy home and empty life and the broken heart that would surely result if she never saw him and the twins again.

 _I love them,_ she thought, and had to swallow hard to bite back the sob that wanted to burst free. _And it_ _’s killing me._

Brienne stood there, indecisive, until a neighbor shot her a wary glance in passing. She realized she’d been loitering in the hallway at Jaime’s door for a good long time and was now officially late, but felt no great pressure to make a decision yet whether or not she was going to abscond.

Her choice was made for her when a young man exited the elevator with a laden paper bag. He looked down at a slip of paper in his hand, then up at the doors lining the hallway, and when his gaze fell on Jaime’s door, his face cleared of puzzlement. He ignored Brienne entirely, sidling past her to knock briskly.

She had only a moment to wonder if she could dart away, never to be seen again, when the door flew open and revealed a disheveled, exhausted-looking Jaime. He frowned in confusion to see Brienne and the man standing there, shoulder-by-shoulder.

“Brienne?” He squinted at her as if having trouble placing where he’d met the giant woman in front of him before. “Is… is it Saturday?” An expression of dismay flashed across his face, still so handsome even when weary as he clearly was.

‘ _Is it Saturday?’ What the hell_.

“Mr. Lannister?” asked the man. At Jaime’s nod, the man handed over the bag. “Delivery from Pycelle Pharmacy. Sign here.” He presented a pen and the paper he’d studied earlier.

“Thanks,” Jaime muttered, scrawling a hurried series of messy loops on the receipt before thrusting it and the pen back at the man, who promptly departed, punching the elevator button and ignoring them completely, his job done.

“Jaime… did something happen?” Brienne asked hesitantly. He looked ghastly— for him— and it wasn’t like him to lose track of which day it was. Then her ribs squeezed. “Did something happen with the twins? What’s wrong?”

He leaned against the door jamb like he had no strength and needed it to prop him up. “Chicken pox,” he said succinctly. “Since… Tuesday?” He held the bag close with one hand and raked the other through his unkempt hair. “Peck has never had it, so he hasn’t been able to be here.”

Jaime had been caring for two sick toddlers, unrelieved, for five days. No wonder he looked so awful. Well, ‘awful’ in comparison to his usual ‘splendid’. Even bone-tired, he was gorgeous, and Brienne’s heart leapt as it always did at the sight of him.

_This one._

“I would have helped,” she said softly. “You should have called me.”

“Should I have?” The words were challenging, but there was no heat behind them. He looked… not angry. Resigned. And sad.

Brienne felt a pang of alarm. _This is it_ , she thought numbly. _This is where he dumps me._

Then she thought, _But I won_ _’t let him_. At least not yet, not while he needed her. He could dump her once he’d had some respite from constant caregiving. A good night’s sleep, one or two good filling meals. He might not love her, but _she_ loved _him_ , and his children, and she was going to help them whether he wanted her to or not.

“Well,” she said with new resolve, “I _have_ had chicken pox. My poor father was up all week, too, when I did. Thank the gods it happened when the Starks were vacationing on Tarth, Aunt Catelyn helped us keep body and soul together.”

Jaime just stared at her, not seeming to understand that she was going to help him care for the twins. She used her bulk to usher him backward so she could enter the apartment at last. It had that peculiar smell of a sickroom, stale and ill, and her first order of business was to march to the closest window and fling it open.

“What—” Jaime began to protest, but as far as Brienne was concerned, the matter was settled. She approached him and took the bag away. Inside was an industrial-sized jug of calamine lotion, a huge bag of cotton balls, a packet of child-dosed fever reducer, and a half-dozen cans of soup.

“When was the last time you ate properly?” she demanded, seeing how gaunt his face was now that the chandelier’s light fell directly on him. In the kitchen, she unpacked the soup from the bag and searched for a can opener, then dumped the contents into a pot and began to heat it. “Or slept?”

“I’ve been finishing whatever the twins don’t eat,” he replied after a moment, staring at her in the way he had back at the ranch, like he was witness to something so strange he couldn’t believe his eyes. “And I sleep when they do.”

She stirred the soup, then rummaged in the refrigerator until she found a loaf of bread and some butter. Filling the toaster with bread, she turned back to him. “Which is when?”

He shrugged, looking a bit shame-faced. “An hour or two every once in a while,” he admitted. “They’re asleep now, but I had to wait for the pharmacy delivery.”

No wonder he looked so worn-out. “Well,” she said, “you’re going to eat this soup and toast, and then you’re going to go sleep. I’ll take care of them until you wake up.”

He stared at her some more, wonderment so clear on his fine-cut features that Brienne became annoyed. Was it really that amazing that she’d help him? Was she so lacking in maternal appearance and expression that the idea of her caring for him and the twins was unbelievable? She yanked on the toaster switch and it popped up, barely less white than it had been when she put it in, and began buttering it with ruthless efficiency. She set the plate on the table and pointed a stern finger, indicating he was to sit.

Meekly, he obeyed and took a bite of his not-quite-toast, at first tentative but then with more fervor when his appetite seemed to kick in. By the time she placed the bowl of soup before him, both slices were gone, but she’d put two more in the toaster. They were ready—fully toasted, this time— by the time he was scraping the bowl clean of the last drops, and he scarfed them down just as eagerly.

“Now go to bed,” she told him, plunking the dirty dishes into the sink.

“But—”

“ _Now_ , Jaime. Before you fall over. I don’t want to twist my knee again, carrying you to the bed.”

His tired eyes took on a gleam in spite of how fatigued he was. “I like when you get bossy, wench,” he said, and in it was the familiar purr as it had been a few weeks ago, before the laughter had begun to fade from their time together. She rolled her eyes, which made him muster a quick grin and press a kiss to her scarred cheek, then steered him from the kitchen and toward his bedroom.

“Take a quick shower,” she advised. “You’ll feel better, and sleep better, too.”

“Yes, Mom,” he replied with a jaunty salute, sauntering away while she admired the delight that was his beautifully rounded ass in the soft, clinging sweatpants he wore.

With a sigh, Brienne returned to wash the dishes, then took the bag of supplies and went to the twins’ room, opening the door silently. She left the lamp off, gazing at them by the light thrown in from the hallway. Even in the gloom of the unlit room, she could see their fever-flushed cheeks and the proliferation of spots on every inch of visible skin. There were long red welts streaking their necks and arms, too, from scratching at their itches. Jaime must have had his hands full with them, and her heart ached at how worn-out and worried he must have been all this time.

He had dragged the upholstered rocking chair between their beds, and Brienne sat in it, setting it in motion with her foot, content to just be with them in silence, watching them sleep. After a while, Tommen woke with a faint moan, sitting up and beginning to scratch right away, but she went to him, stilling him with a hand.

“Briemme!” he croaked, the gladness on his face to see her almost making her weep. “I have chicken spots,” he said as he began scratching his belly. “I don’t like chicken anymore.”

“I know it’s hard, baby, but don’t scratch,” she told him softly, not wanting to wake Myrcy. “I’ll put some lotion on, it’ll help.”

He nodded lethargically and submitted to being dabbed with a cotton ball soaked in calamine. When he was liberally polka-dotted with silver stag-sized pink dots, she picked him up and sat back in the rocking chair.

“Itchy and my froat hurts and I’m tired,” he told her.

“I know. I’m sorry. You can have an ice pop later,” she replied, unsure if Jaime had ice pops or not, but vowing to herself that Tommen and Myrcy would have some if she had to search every grocery store in King’s Landing.

Tommen dozed in her arms as she rocked. After an hour or so, Myrcy woke, and Brienne repeated the process, dabbing until the tiny girl was all over in pink dots as well, and promised ice pops in the morning to her as well. Then Myrcy was in her lap, too, and she hummed them back to sleep, finally drifting off herself as the sky began to lighten from indigo to sapphire.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this wasn't up earlier, I was ready, willing, and able to update at 5pm EST but AO3 was down for AGES and I just managed to log in now. Rawr.
> 
> So... this is nearly the last chapter, only the epilogue is left! I'm so pleased how much everyone seems to have enjoyed this, and grateful for your enthusiasm and kindness! You're the best! No idea when the next story will be out, so subscribe to my author page or w/e it's called so you get a notice the next time I publish something new.
> 
> I need your feedback: do you want the epilogue in 2 parts-- Friday and Monday-- or do you want it in just one part and finish up on Friday and be done forever? Let me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to the delightful and delovely Mikki (ikkiM). She deserves easily at least a third of the credit for this mess ending up as coherent as it has.

.

~*~

.

 _Brienne_ , he thought as he opened one bleary eye. _Brienne is here._ He was filled with a warm rush of comfort and desire and love.

He’d forgotten to phone and cancel their Saturday ‘date’, and he’d felt bad that she’d trekked cross-town only to find him unfit for anything but sleep, but then she’d taken charge and he’d felt nothing but relief to have the responsibility of two sick children lifted from his shoulders, even for just a short while. He couldn’t help but stare at her, his chest aching with love and amazement that someone so wonderful could even exist.

Over the past few days, Jaime had gotten used to feeling like shit. It seemed there hadn’t been a moment when one twin or the other wasn’t calling out for him. Seeing and hearing them so miserable had worn on him, and not just physically.  It was amazing how much better he was after eating enough, and showering, and— he rolled over to gaze at his bedside clock— almost six hours of uninterrupted sleep.

He took a moment to listen. A slight cough from Tommen, or possibly Myrcy, followed by a soothing hum. _Brienne._ She had spent the night taking care of them, moving about in her quiet and efficient way.

He should get up and check on the twins himself, but… his bed was so damned comfortable, and his brain was a tangle after almost a week of sleep deprivation, and Brienne’s so efficiently slipping into place to take care of Myrcy and Tommen had his emotions in an uproar.

Brienne had become an important part of his life, and not just the Saturday nights. He’d enjoyed the first two months of their liaison; of course he had. And not just because of the sex, though it had been mind-blowing both in variety and sheer quantity, but he’d enjoyed talking to Brienne, learning about her, just as much as the fucking.

Sometimes he’d even liked the talking _more_ , because every revelation about the big, important events that made her who she was— always admitted shyly, with bashful smiles that had Jaime hard-pressed not to tackle her— was another indication that she trusted him with her pain. She told him all the ugly details about the people she was symbolically murdering in her books: the septa who brainwashed her into believing she was so hideous no one would ever find her attractive or love her; the opportunistic shit who thought marrying Brienne would gain him Tarth; the assholes who’d thought it hilarious to bet on which of them could seduce her first.

She even told him about a guy she hadn’t written about yet, but who’d have a very special story all to himself, one day. Jaime carefully filed his name— Ron Connington— away in case of a future meeting, because that was a man who deserved a backhanding if Jaime had ever heard of one. Ron had been one of the first romantic experiences Brienne had ever had, and it had ended in unmitigated catastrophe, putting a scar on her tender heart that she had yet to recover from.

There’d been no need for that cruelty, though Jaime was not oblivious enough not to recognize that there’d been no need for his own, and he’d still done it. He’d apologized to her for it, and she’d accepted his apology, but there was something weary to it that made him wonder how often that happened— that she’d heard a lot of after-the-fact apologies for unthinking meanness at the expense of her looks. It had him feeling very ashamed, and he’d made a mental note to be a better role model for the twins. Just because they were Lannisters didn’t mean they had to inherit his legacy of venting upset by hurting others.

But no matter how awful the topic, even if the memory made her eyes well with tears, she wouldn’t permit him to comfort her beyond a quick hug or press of the hand, as any friend might provide.

At first, it had hurt Jaime’s feelings, that Brienne would reject his offers of comfort. Cersei had been the same way: upset of any sort was met with stony, seething silence and furious rejection of anything Jaime could do or say to improve the situation.

But Brienne’s reactions were different. She’d breezily insist that she was “just _fine!_ ” though her words were were belied by the unshed tears in her eyes, and the way her chin would wobble when she held back her emotions.

Once he really started paying attention to her, reading her face and body, the more he understood. Brienne had been mistreated for her looks so badly, so often, that she’d developed a profound sense of shame, so aware of the revulsion everyone felt just to look at her that she was terrified to even touch anyone for fear of rejection. And after a lifetime of people lying to her— the septa about Brienne’s inevitable solitude, the opportunist about caring for her, the betting pool for her virginity— she was as wary to trust as a feral cat.

It must have taken the leap of faith of a lifetime for her to ever permit him near her in the first place, he saw now. And to share with him all these horrific details of how she’d been wronged, as well… for her to have found the courage to let him have her in the Castamere barn not once but twice, and then spend the rest of the night with him… her attraction to him must be even stronger than he had thought, if it had overcome her rock-solid sense of self-preservation.

He blinked as a thought came to him. It was slow, creeping in at the edges of his muzzy consciousness, but it gained strength the more he picked it apart. She’d given him and the twins so many soft touches and tender smiles, the past few months. And sometimes he caught her looking at him in wide-eyed wonder, as if someone had just told her she’d won the lottery. She had to care for him, for all three of them, because she was a _terrible_ actress. There was no way she could have been pretending for so long.

The realization went through Jaime like a thunderbolt. How could he have missed it, all these weeks? All of her ‘ _just fines_ _’_ and the distance she put between them wasn’t a rejection of him, but a means to protect herself. To have let Jaime into her body, she had to want him very much. To have let him into her heart...

She loved him. Brienne _loved_ him _._

Gladness and relief crashed over him with such force that tears sprang to his eyes. He’d taken to asking her to stay later than just Sunday mornings, to stay all day, in fact, and only go home at night— or maybe not go home at all— but she had steadfastly refused to expand the scope of their arrangement. Jaime had begun to despair, to feel that perhaps she just wasn’t capable of anything more than a sexual relationship. The prospect of spending the rest of his life pining after her, his love unrequited, had sapped much of his enjoyment in their most recent Saturdays, making him cling to her like a particularly lovesick limpet, but he’d been a thrice-damned idiot.

He’d been viewing the _forest_ , not the _trees_ , like a fool. A lifetime of familiarity with Cersei had given him an effortless expertise with what _she_ meant and wanted when she did or said anything, but it had prepared him spectacularly poorly when it came to dealing with Brienne.

Brienne, unlike Cersei, kept her emotions hidden for fear of having them targeted. She had learned to accept whichever scraps were tossed her way, and that any sign of vulnerability would be brutally exploited. And hadn’t his own upbringing been the same? He’d had to acquire the same lesson, that showing weakness was an invitation to attack. He protected himself with sarcasm and the same meanness he’d acquired by Tywin’s and Cersei’s less-than-stellar examples. Brienne did it by pretending she didn’t feel anything at all.

He cast his memory back, and over and over he recognized the signs as clearly as if she’d spoken the words aloud. He saw that she _couldn_ _’t_ speak them aloud, so she’d poured it into everything else. He should have been paying attention to the way she looked at him, her magnificent eyes lambent and sweet even when they weren’t having sex, and how she touched him with such gentleness and care— how she smiled at him, so tenderly— how she was with Myrcy and Tommen, no less loving than if she had birthed them herself—

He understood it, now, understood _her_. If they were to progress beyond this point, it was up to him to take the first step. She wasn’t able to do it herself.

And they _would_ progress. They would.

In spite of his lingering physical fatigue, Jaime felt renewed, bursting with energy, and launched himself from the bed, a man with a mission. He started to change into a clean pair of sweatpants and another t-shirt, but changed his mind. This was going to be an important moment in his life. In _their_ lives. He pulled on jeans, instead, and a button-down shirt, and washed his face and brushed his teeth and his hair.

His hands trembled, just a bit, from excitement and perhaps just a touch of apprehension— so he jammed them in his pockets to hide it. When he came to the twins’ room, he stood in the doorway and watched Brienne dabbing calamine lotion on their fevered little bodies while they slept, so careful that they didn’t stir in the slightest.

She finished, putting the cotton ball in the trash and sealing the bottle of lotion, so domestic and so at home with his children, before sitting down in the rocking chair. He whispered her name to get her attention.

“Oh!” she said, but softly, looking up at him.

He smiled at her. _This one_ vibrated through his entire being. The dim light filtering past him from the hallway highlighted her features. Objectively, he knew she wasn’t pretty, but when he looked at her, all he saw was beauty. He entered the room and dropped to his knees before her. Looking up, he saw she was framed by the window behind her, and her eyes were all the same brilliant shades of blue as the dawn sky.

Jaime put his head down on her lap and hugged her loosely around the knees, trying to buy himself time to figure out how to tell her, how to make her understand.

“Are you alright?” Brienne asked, sounding a little concerned, and her hand came to his head, stroking lightly over his hair.

“Yes, I’m fine.” He rubbed his cheek against her knee. The words were starting to come to him. He couldn’t fuck it up, not this time. He inhaled, ready to speak.

“What’s wrong?” She sounded outright alarmed now, and he drew back to look up at her again, but before he could reply, she continued in a tight, almost-strangled voice, “I, uh, have been thinking. About where we’re going with… this. And I think we should— it would be best if we— if we stopped. If we broke up.”

Jaime felt the blood drain from his face and sucked in a breath at the slash of pain through his ribs. They stared at each other a long, silent moment. Whatever words he’d been able to gather fled in the wake of her announcement.

 _Not again,_ was all he could think, misery an instant churning in his gut. How many times had he gone to his father for comfort, after his mother had died? How often had he turned to Cersei for affection? Was he going to spend the rest of his life reaching out for love and being rejected? What the fuck was wrong with him, that he was so undeserving? That even the kindest, nicest person on Planetos couldn’t find it in her heart to care for him?

 _This one,_ whimpered some despairing little ember deep within, and it stopped his self-pitying tirade in its tracks. What had brought him to his knees before Brienne in the first place? His realization that she loved him. He knew it, knew it with unshakable certainty. He had to shove aside his own insecurities and focus on hers.

 _Don_ _’t get distracted by the forest. Look at the trees_.

This wasn’t about him. This was her pain’s last stand, a denial of what she wanted most in a desperate attempt to protect the fragile inner heart of herself.

He sat back on his heels and studied Brienne as calmly as he was able. Her face was strained, and she had tightly folded her hands, dotted with spots of calamine lotion, in her lap.

“That’s a _terrible_ idea, wench,” he said lightly. It was time. _Now or never._ “Why would we break up when we’re in love with each other?”

Brienne sucked in a breath and her gaze skittered away.. “I— you don’t— I’m not—”

“I do.” He interrupted her flood of stammering, but gently. “I love you. And yes, you love me, too.”

She pushed at his shoulders and, when he wouldn’t release her easily, gave him a harder shove, almost sending him back on his ass.

“Not here,” she whispered as she stood, sounding furious. She nearly ran from the twins’ room, tension clear in every step.

Jaime got to his feet and followed, a sick feeling in his stomach. In the living room, Brienne was pacing back and forth, wringing her hands, steadfastly not meeting his eyes. When she finally looked up, his chest clenched at the distress on her face.

“I don’t know why you’d do this to me,” she said, voice low and controlled. “I thought— I thought— you got what you wanted from me. Or was it this, the whole time? Was it all a build-up so that you could—”

“Brienne,” said Jaime tightly, “what the hells are you talking about?” He was trying to stay calm, to remember how frightened she was, but it was damned hard when she was all but accusing him of concocting a wild scheme to destroy her.

“Jaime,” she said helplessly, “please. _Please_. If this is some sort of joke…” She drew in a shuddery breath. “ _Please_ don’t do this to me.”

His temper snapped the taut rein he’d tried holding on it. “Do you really think I would play that kind of joke on you? All this time, and this is what you think of me?”

His vehemence made her stop pacing. She stared at him, eyes huge and bewildered and scared. He thrust his hands into his hair, tugging to get the slight pain to give him focus.

“I’ve tried so fucking hard to be patient with you. I know how difficult it is for you to trust. I’ve spent the last three months waiting, hoping you’d get past it and see what we have. See how good we are together. I’ve been hoping you’d come to trust me, at least a little. At least enough to take a chance on me. I’ve let you into my home, let you spend time with my children. I’ve never done that with any other woman. What else can I do?”

“You don’t know, Jaime,” she said shakily. “You don’t know what I’ve been through—”

“I do know!” He almost shouted it before remembering that Myrcy and Tommen were asleep. “I know because you told me,” he repeated more quietly, from between clenched teeth. “You’ve told everyone, everyone who’s read your books. But I’m not like them. I was terrible to you that first day, but… it changed. _I_ changed. That first night, even…”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “You and Arya came barreling down the stairs, and I could see your face in full light for the first time, and your eyes… your _eyes_ , Brienne! Fuck. Nothing was ever the same, after that. One look, and I could hear this little voice telling me you were the one.”

She froze, even her trembling going still, as she stared at him. Then she whispered, “ _This one_.”

He’d been glaring down at the floor so he didn’t glare at her. At her words, his head snapped up. “What did you say?”

She tried to speak but her voice broke. After a hard swallow, she tried again. “The little voice. It says ‘this one’.”

Jaime felt all the air whoosh from his lungs. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathed. “You— you hear it, too?”

“From the first moment I saw you,” Brienne said numbly, sounding dazed. Her face was the color of milk, and she was swaying on her feet, but her eyes were fixed on him, huge and luminous and searching. “Every time I look at you.”

She couldn’t repress it anymore. It was bigger than either of them, this love. The fist clenching Jaime’s heart eased a little. He strode to her in two quick steps and took her by the arms.

“I don’t know if it’s the gods or something else. But whatever it is, it wants us to be together. It knows we’re perfect for each other. I know it, and you know it, too. What more will it take to make you believe it? What I feel for you isn’t a _joke_.”

His heart was a jackhammer, pounding hard and quick, and when he put his arms around her and tugged her close, he could feel that hers was thumping just as much. “I love you. I didn’t think someone as good as you could exist. You’re everything I’ve always wanted. You make my children happy. You make _me_ happy.”

Jaime ran out of words, so he just stood there, holding her, his breath quick and shallow. _Please_ , he thought. _Please, please, please._

Brienne’s hands came up between them and she began to push him away. Pain lanced through his chest, anguish rising to choke him. _Fuck, not again._ He’d failed, _again_ , and—

She slid her arms higher, around his neck, and pressed herself to him so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

“Jaime,” she whispered, right into his ear. “My love, my love.”

…but breathing was overrated, anyway. Relief softened his knees to water and with a gasp Brienne caught him, kept him from sinking to the floor. Jaime snatched her against him and buried his face against her neck, tumbling them both to the couch.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

She laughed, but it sounded strained. “You’re thanking _me_? What for?”

He pulled back so he could look into her face. “For taking a chance on me. For trusting me. I know it’s hard for you. Don’t ever think I don’t realize that.”

She stared at him, silent, for so long he started to get nervous. But then she raised her hands to his face and smiled at him, the sweetest smile he ever saw. “Falling in love with you has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I only hid it for so long because I thought it was impossible you could ever love me back. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable and risk you dumping me.”

Jaime couldn’t repress his laughter. “Same. Exactly the same. I was a complete asshole to you when we first met. I knew I had to convince you that I was better than that, and I was so worried that you’d think I was pushy… you wouldn’t stay any later on Sundays, I was convinced you couldn’t stand me except for the sex.”

Her face pinched in dismay. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to feel that way. There’s so much more to you than just sex.”

“ _Just_ sex?” he teased. Relief made his heart feel as light as a feather. “Wench, I provide you with world-class fucking. There’s nothing _just_ about it.”

And she _giggled_ , like a _girl_ , with her eyes shut and a wide smile, looking so joyous that Jaime couldn’t stop grinning, proud that he was able to do that for her.

“That’s quite an assertion, cowboy,” she said breathlessly. “I’m going to need some proof.”

“Want me to put my money where my mouth is?” He industriously unbuttoned her shirt, laying a trail of kisses down her chest as each inch was revealed. “I can do that. I’m _terrific_ at doing that.”

“Yeah,” she said dreamily, raising her hips to help him drag off her trousers and panties, then sighing as he made himself comfortable between her legs. “You really are.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are, at the end! Everyone wanted the whole shabang at once, so... no chapter 34, just a double-length chapter 33. Thank you all for coming with me on this little trip, I could not possibly be happier with the reception it's gotten and how appreciative you've been. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to LinnetMelody. IDK if she's even reading this one, but I got the email this morning from AO3 showing that she left kudos on ELEVEN of my stories-- in one day! That's dedication. 
> 
> As always, lavish gratitude for Mikki (ikkiM here on AO3) for being a superlative beta and all-round genius-type person. I am not engaging in false modesty when I say that she made this story about a thousand percent better than it would have been otherwise. It was a hefty undertaking but she never faltered in her enthusiasm, even when my own flagged toward the end.
> 
> Okay, enough yammering. Enjoy! And thanks again!

.

~*~

.

 

**_three months later_ **

 

 

“You’re the best.” Peck declared the moment Brienne let herself into Jaime’s apartment, a mere blur of worn sneakers and beat-up messenger bag as he bolted for the door.

Over the course of dating Jaime, she’d begun spending most weeknights at Jaime’s by the King’s Gate, and all four of them spent weekends at Brienne’s in Flea Bottom. Brienne tried to have at least one night during the week at her place, just to give them each a little space although they usually talked on the phone until late when they were apart. After spending Monday night at her place, she had planned to make her way to Jaime’s anyway, that Tuesday evening. It would just be a few hours early.

Not that she minded; it only meant more time with Myrcy and Tommen, which she was always eager to enjoy. No matter how often she saw them, whether it was another trip to the zoo for their birthday or just staying in to watch cartoons, it was never too much.

“Where are my ducklings?” she asked no one in particular, because the twins liked to hide when they knew she was coming, popping out to ‘surprise’ her. Nothing. She set down Perriane’s carrier and opened its door; predictably, the cat bolted out and ran off to hide as she always did for the first hour of her visit to the Lannister apartment. Once she became accustomed to the ‘this isn’t home!’ smell and relaxed, she’d venture out to accept the twins’ adoration.

Brienne heaved a sigh and sat on the sofa, beginning to rummage through her tote bag. “I guess I’ll have to eat these allllllll by myself—”

“What is it? We want some!” Myrcy exclaimed, popping out from under the side table.

“We’re not ducklings, Briemme!” Tommen gave a roar as he leapt from behind Jaime’s wingback chair. “We’re lion cubs!”

They clustered around her knees and she pulled out a bag of dried apricots, for which they eagerly scrabbled. It had taken some doing, but she’d made excellent headway toward converting their love of sweets for healthier things. She gave them each an apricot and dug out her phone.

 

She couldn’t help grinning down at the phone. Jaime was always trying to sext her, and she was always refusing. There was no way she would ever permit photographic evidence of how she looked nude to exist. Jaime, having no concept of the notion of shame or even modesty, was constantly sending her images he insisted were ‘tasteful’ but which were, in reality, more than slightly pornographic.

Not that she was complaining.

She liked those best, in fact.

Though she’d die before admitting it.

There’d be no work done while the twins were around, so Brienne didn’t bother to take her laptop out.

“Let’s go decide what to make for dinner,” she said, “and maybe bake some dessert so Daddy has a surprise when he comes home.”

Her suggestion was met with enthusiasm, so off they went to the kitchen, and decided that pork roast and potatoes and carrots would be easy and tasty. They made a pan of pumpkin bars, and then the twins had fun patting herbs all over the pork while Brienne cut up the vegetables.

She had just put the roast in the oven in expectation of Jaime’s arrival forty minutes later when he texted again.

   


While it never failed to shock Brienne with its blatant lack of respect— she’d never even consider calling her own beloved father anything remotely so awful— she had to admit there was a certain… suitability… to Tywin’s moniker of “OB”.

“Okay :(” she sent back to him, but her thoughts teemed with frustration. This would be yet another night Jaime wasn’t there to have dinner with the twins, nor see them before they went to bed. Did Tywin not understand how much it meant to his son and grandchildren to spend time with each other? How important it was? These were precious days Jaime would never get back, and he was missing them because his father was punishing him, yet again, for another ‘infraction’.

After the grudgingly-acceptable time off of a week to care for Myrcy and Tommen while they had chicken pox had come the unforgivable lapse of taking a day for their fourth birthday, and then a Friday and Monday for a long weekend in Oldtown for the launch of The Grilling Season.

Tywin’s fury over those outrageous absences were nothing to his reaction to learning Jaime was dating Brienne, however. The OB had apparently refused to ever endorse her as the girlfriend of his heir and the Lannister scion. He wouldn’t even meet her, much to Brienne’s relief, since she had no wish to ever come face-to-face with him, but it sent Jaime into a towering rage at the slight against her.

After an hour of stewing over the issue, she found herself worked into a bit of a rage her own self. _How dare Tywin treat Jaime like some wayward child in need of correction?_   He was a grown man, with children of his own, and had every right to go on vacation and date whomever he wanted and get home in time to have dinner with his family.

Once the roast was out of the oven, she shut the appliance off and turned to the twins with a big smile.

“What do you say,” she said, “to getting Daddy at work and bringing him home?”

~*~

Brienne let Myrcy and Tommen have a pumpkin bar each, in hopes of sugaring them up into a right proper frenzy sure to horrify their staid grandfather, while she put on makeup and found Jaime’s favorite pair of her stilettos. Once ready, she ushered them into the KingsRide she’d ordered and off they went toward the downtown.

Thirty minutes later, Brienne thrust the fare at the driver and helped the twins out of the vehicle. She took one of their hands in each of hers and steered them across the sidewalk to enter the tall glass-windowed skyscraper comprising Lannister Financial. Tommen gave a little roar as they passed under the gilded lion on a scarlet background that dominated the lintel over the huge main doors.

Brienne was aware of the odd looks they were getting, tiny children not being a common occurrence in their workplace, but she didn’t care, having geared herself up into fine fettle by the time they emerged from the elevator onto the 34th floor, where Jaime had mentioned his office was.

 _Maybe this will finally get him fired_ , she thought with more than a touch of righteous indignation as she swept past a bank of data entry cubicles toward where she saw Pia rising from the seat behind her desk, her eyes and mouth both wide with surprise.

“Um—” Pia began. “Can I help you, Brienne?”

“We’re here to see Daddy!” Myrcy said helpfully while spinning in a circle.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Tommen shouted with sugar-induced enthusiasm.

“He’s in a meeting.” Pia looked conflicted. Brienne supposed she was torn between trying to make Jaime’s life easier and the thrill of some prime drama going down right in front of her. After a moment, the desire for drama seemed to have won out and Pia nodded, ready to  facilitate it however she could.

“Where is he?” Brienne asked her, tone deceptively soft.

Pia seemed to sense that it was not the time to try to pacify Jaime’s girlfriend, because Brienne was clearly a woman on a mission and would not be stopped.

“They’re in the conference room…” she replied, pointing down the hallway, before adding, “Can you put in a good word for me at Tyrell House when the OB fires me?”

“I’ll hire you myself,” said Brienne grimly before looking down at the children. “Let’s go find Daddy. Remember what we talked about in the taxi?”

“That we have to be _extra_ loud?” asked Tommen as he hopped down the hallway. He could not possibly have been more pleased with an instruction, and if the look on his twin’s face were any indication, she too was delighted with the prospect.

Pia giggled nervously as she trailed them down the hall. Brienne turned to look at the woman, who was furiously texting on her phone. “Peck?” she asked.

Pia nodded. “I don’t want him to miss this,” she said with a grin. “Let me get the door for you.” She took a few quick steps to get in front of Brienne and the children. “I’ll announce you.”

“No need,” said Brienne as Pia pushed the door open. “I’ve got this.”

~*~

The OB droned on about interest rates and exchange rates and probably a few other kinds of rates as well. He was leaning back in his chair at the head of the long conference table, fingers steepled, indexes tapping in punctuation to various points he felt especially passionate about, or as passionate as Tywin ever got about anything. Jaime took inspiration from Brienne and imagined various ways to kill him.

There was merit to the idea of grasping the back of his father’s chair— it was extra tall, even thronelike, to ensure none of his minions ever forgot who held power over the fate of their immortal souls— and just shoving him through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. He wondered what sort of trajectory he could manage, and how hard he’d have to push to achieve a nice graceful arc before the OB began his final plunge toward earth.

Jaime’s thoughts took a less homicidal turn as he drifted into thoughts of his plans for the future, once again. Unbeknownst to Brienne, he’d found a plot of land to buy out near Tyrion’s ranch. Halfway between Ashemark and Brightroar Farm, it would be ideal for their little, hopefully growing, family… once they became a family. The idea had him fighting an inappropriately happy smile.

Then Pia opened the door, against explicit orders to keep the conference room as undisturbed as a sensory deprivation tank. While the OB never faltered in his endless wittering in the direction of the phone console in the middle of the table, he did rotate his chair in the direction of the door and narrowed his eyes, which boded ill for Jaime’s unfortunate secretary. He was about to make a mental note to write a recommendation letter for Pia so if Tywin fired her— lucky woman that she would be— she wouldn’t have trouble finding a new position.

Then Jaime realized who stood behind Pia and his jaw dropped open. He was not alone; at the spectacle of a very tall, very determined-looking woman flanked by two near-identical children, everyone else in the room gaped, too.

Even the OB gaped, and that was when Jaime decided that the time for shilly-shallying was over. He’d been dreaming of a log cabin-style house full of love and laughter for a few months, now, and was just about ready to pop various important questions. He’d already known he’d be asking her to marry him sometime soon. He’d only been waiting for the right time.

‘Sometime soon’ had just become ‘tonight no matter what’. Any woman who could get his father to display emotion in public— any emotion, even one of the milder ones like surprise— had to be his forever.

He opened his mouth to say something— anything— when the twins screamed “Daddy!” like they’d just been electrocuted, then pulled away from Brienne and hurled themselves at him. Grinning, he reached out and hauled them into his lap.

The twins’ ear-splitting greeting bounced around the conference room and made everyone at the table wince. Jaime received pumpkin-scented kisses all over his cheeks as they greeted him with manic enthusiasm, then pried sticky fingers from the death-grip they had on his tie. Normally he’d be a bit more repressive in getting them to behave, but there was something peculiar about the militant light in Brienne’s extraordinary eyes. This was planned, he just didn’t know to what end. But he was game to go along with whatever she had in mind. Who knew; maybe it could even get _him_ fired, at long last.

“Hey, kids,” he therefore said cheerfully, then looked at his girlfriend. She was usually on top of the twins to keep them restrained and on the quiet side, and he expected some comment from her about ‘inside voices’, but to his amusement, she just looked pleased and, if he weren’t wrong, proud.

From the phone came a confused spate of Yi Tiese.

“We’ve had an unexpected development,” Tywin said slowly. “I’ll have to get back to you tomorrow. My apologies.” Not waiting for a response, he pressed the remote ‘hang up’ button, and his cold gaze flickered to the employees arrayed around the table. “Give us the room.”

They all launched themselves to their feet and practically bolted for the door, causing a jam in their eagerness to escape. Pia flattened herself against the wall to avoid being crushed but Brienne just stood there like a boulder in a river, immovable, making everyone flow around her. Jaime noticed she was even taller than usual; a glance downward told him she was wearing a pair of the towering heels he enjoyed on her so much, but which she usually felt too self-conscious to rock.

She was rocking them now, that was for damned sure.

He knew she’d put them on to seem more substantial, to give her courage for what she felt she had to do. Brienne was also wearing red lipstick and makeup that made her eyes even more beautiful than usual. She looked strong, and powerful, and he realized that she’d girded herself for battle and come there to save him.

She was battling Tywin, for fuck’s sake, for Jaime— for his children— and the knowledge of it made him update his timeline to propose from ‘tonight no matter what’ to ‘as soon as we get out of this building’.

“Which one is Grandpa?” Tommen shouted, looking around the room with frank curiosity, and the exodus ceased abruptly as everyone else realized that Tywin Lannister could not be recognized by his own grandchildren. Unaware of the bomb he’d dropped, the boy gazed at each man in the room. “Is it him? He looks like a nice grandpa.”

He pointed at Davos Seaworth, who immediately looked as pleased as punch. Davos had a huge number of children and even more immense quantity of grandchildren, as evidenced by how his office was practically wallpapered with photos of his gigantic brood. Then he caught the OB’s gelid eye and scurried away like his ass had caught on fire.

“Sorry, Tommen,” Jaime drawled once everyone had gone but himself, the twins, his father, and Brienne. “Grandpa is the friendly guy over there.”

“He doesn’t _look_ friendly,” protested Myrcy, clearly concerned. She flinched away from the table and back into Jaime’s chest, wrapping her little arms around his neck almost fearfully, and anger spiked through him, that his father looked so forbidding that he was frightening his own grandchildren.

“He looks mean,” Tommen whispered, though of course since he had not learned that whispering was supposed to be quieter than his usual volume of ‘eardrum-shattering’ it was clearly audible to everyone. He, too, shrank back against Jaime’s chest.

Perhaps it was Jaime’s fault, for surrounding them with so much love that they didn’t know how to cope with cold or hostile people. But they were Lannisters, and would have to live with the ugly legacy that entailed. One day, once the OB decided to acknowledge their existence, they’d have to get used to Tywin being Tywin.

Except Brienne had taken a step toward his father and was glaring at him so fiercely that she seemed about to shoot lasers out of her eyeballs. If he knew her— and he did— she was about to skewer the OB just as efficiently as she had the rattlesnake, all those months ago.

“Smile at them,” she hissed at the OB. “Smile at them _now_.”

The way she was clenching and unclenching her fists had Jaime wondering if she’d actually take a swing at Tywin. He reached for his phone— after the day of Peck’s unfortunate impalement,  Jaime had it on him at all times, his father’s haughty demands be damned— so he could video it, if so. That would be something needing preservation for posterity. _And_ for Tyrion; his brother would never forgive him if he missed out on seeing their father’s richly-deserved comeuppance, especially at the substantial fists of one Brienne Tarth.

To his shock, his father _obeyed her_ , and forced his lipless mouth to curve in a gruesome facsimile of a smile. Numbly, never taking his eyes off the unnerving scene, Jaime tapped ‘record’.

“Jaime has told me about your wife,” Brienne continued, her voice shaking. “I think she would be ashamed of the fact that your sons can’t stand you, and your grandchildren don’t even know what you look like and are terrified of you. You should be ashamed of _yourself_. You’re a disgrace. Your priorities are fu— messed up. You don’t deserve Jaime or Tyrion or the twins.”

She strode around the table to Jaime and plucked Myrcy from his lap, cuddling her close, seeming to need the comfort more than Myrcy did.

“Jaime is quitting, effective immediately, and we’re moving to the Westerlands so the twins can grow up with their new cousin, and you’re not welcome there until you can make your face work like a normal human.”

“New cousin?” said the OB, and for the first time in his life, Jaime watched in amazement as his father’s face crumpled, though it swiftly returned to its usual turd-under-the-nose hauteur.

“Tyrion and Tysha are expecting a baby in five months. You didn’t even know that, did you?” She met Jaime’s eyes, looking chagrined before turning back to Tywin. “If Tyrion didn’t say anything, he didn’t want you to know. I’ll have to apologize to them for that. But my point stands even more— your son actively hid from you the fact that he’s going to be a father. Doesn’t that tell you that something is terribly wrong?”

The OB stared at her before visibly pulling himself back together. “You’re a very bold woman,” he told her icily. “Don’t you realize I can make your life very difficult?”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “How? Going to call my boss and get me fired?”

“I could.”

She smiled, a big toothy grin. “I dearly hope you try. Olenna Tyrell is… _vocal…_ about what she thinks of you. She’d probably double my royalties percentage if you tried to have her drop me.”

 _Check and mate._ Tywin had a lot of power and wealth at his disposal, but the Tyrells matched the Lannisters pound for pound. The OB had nothing on the publishing house, no way of compelling them to do his bidding, and oh, how he hated that fact.

His father swiveled his regard to Jaime, and like always, Jaime felt the weight of his father’s attention settle on him like a mountain.

“You’ll let this woman make such decisions for you?” It was evident the OB was grasping at straws, trying to draw Jaime out with appeals to his masculinity and ego. “You’ll let her dominate you like this?”

Jaime shrugged. “Been letting _you_ dominate me all these years. At least I know _she’s_ bossing me around because she actually loves me and wants me to be happy. Besides, my resignation has been written for a year, now. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to hand it in.” He paused, gazing at Brienne with all the adoration he felt for her in that moment, and her lips parted in wonder as she stared back with the same lovesick expression he knew he was aiming at her.

 _This one right here_ , purred his soul. _Yes._

He stood, ending the phone recording to heft Tommen on his hip before wrapping his free arm around Brienne’s waist and drawing her close. He couldn’t even wait until they got out of the room. “And now _I’m_ going to dominate _her_ and announce that we’re getting married.”

He grinned at her uncertainly, but her answering smile was like the sun cresting over the horizon.

“We are?” she asked in a wobbly voice.

Jaime nodded as relief cascaded through him. “At the ranch, as soon as we can get everyone to the Westerlands. You’ll want your family there, and the Starks— I know Sansa’s just aching to have an excuse to spend more time with Sandor.”

“And the Tyrells,” she said, her voice thick, and she blinked rapidly as her eyes filled with tears. “They’ve been so good to me.”

“The Tyrells too, then,” he agreed. He’d agree to anything, as long as she married him. “I don’t care who you invite, as long as they can get there within a week or two, because I’m not waiting longer than that.”

Myrcy reached out from Brienne’s embrace to put her tiny hands on Jaime’s face, forcing him to look at her. “Daddy,” she said very distinctly, “what’s happening?”

“Brienne just agreed to become your mother,” he told her, expecting surprise or joy in reaction, but his daughter just exchanged a look with her twin that was rather long-suffering for a person barely four years of age.

“Tommen and I know Briemme is _already_ our mother,” she said, as if Jaime were hopelessly stupid.

“No, Myrcy,” said Tommen, sounding knowledgeable, “now we can _call_ her Mommy.”

Myrcy’s mouth formed an O of comprehension, and the matter was settled for her. “You’re Mommy now!” she announced, and hugged Brienne, who gave a muffled sob and lost the fight against her tears. Tommen launched himself into Brienne’s arms, unwilling to let his sister get all the maternal affection.

Jaime wrapped his arms around all three and leaned in to kiss his new fiancée. He tasted the tears on her lips and felt such an upswell of gladness that he had to blink a few times, himself. He turned to find Tywin staring at them with the weirdest expression on his severe face, like he was fighting a pitched battle for composure and only barely winning.

Pity filled Jaime, to see that even then, his father couldn’t bear to permit himself a little vulnerability, couldn’t admit he was wrong, couldn’t let himself be a part of some damned happiness for once. He nudged Brienne toward the door, and they left without another word.

“Let’s go home,” he said as they made their way to the elevator. “I’ll have Pia pack up everything in my office, except my letter of resignation, and send it to me.” The idea that he would never again have to set foot in this damned building, or be under his father’s thumb, made him ridiculously happy, and the moment the elevator doors had shut behind them, he laid a whopper of a kiss on Brienne.

He splurged on a cab all the way home. The twins chattered away about moving to the ranch— “We can ride the ponies every day!” declared Myrcy, while Tommen fretted, “Will Perriane be upset to move so far away?”— but Jaime and Brienne just sat quietly, holding hands and smiling uncontrollably.

Dinner was nice, with Jaime proclaiming the pork roast the best he ever had, thanks to the children’s preparation of it. After the twins’ bath, all four of them did the bar of soap song together. They weren’t even one bedtime story in before the twins crashed down from their sugar high and were fast asleep. Instead of winding down by watching a movie, like usual, Jaime and Brienne went to bed.

They made love with aching slowness, staring into each others’ eyes, and when they came, it was while exclaiming _I love you, I love you, I love you_. When it was over, and they lay there panting and sated, Jaime looked out the window at the huge orange moon rising over King’s Landing and smiled.

“We’re going to be happy, Brienne,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly, and reached for his hand, twining their fingers together. “Yes.”

 _This one._ The words rang like bells, so clearly that Jaime twitched, looking around for the speaker, but it was just them.

 _Yes_ , he thought, and brushed his lips over her forehead.  _She’s the one._


End file.
